All
By Barbara Ras
The prisoner can’t go any longer, but he does.
The beggar can’t go on begging, but watch—
Tomorrow he’ll be in the alley, holding out a bowl
To everyone, to even a young, possibly poorer, child.
The mother can’t go on believing,
But she will kneel for hours in the cathedral,
Holding silence in her arms.
The rain goes on, daily, sometimes, and we cry,
As often as not alone.
The fishmonger, the bell ringer, the cook, each
Can be corrupted in a less than dire way.
Nothing can replace the sea breezes you were born to.
Nothing can stay the shy ache in the palm
you hold out to the fortune-teller.
The concrete lions on her steps go on
Making bloodless journeys, they go on
Hunting in air longer than any of you will live to watch,
Hunting still after your futures become all irises
and blamelessness.
Copyright Credit: "All" from One Hidden Stuff by Barbara Ras, copyright © 2006 by Barbara Ras. Used by permission of Penguin Books, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.
Source: One Hidden Stuff (Penguin, 2006)