Tuesday, August 18, 2009


rough wood frame
on my wall
near my desk
there is a picture frame
that I built myself
it contains four postcards
which I bought in Maui
when visiting a lunatic friend of mine
at least once a day
or more likely once a night
the picture frame falls to the floor
either it is bumped by my chair
my rolling desk chair
or it is knocked over
by some drunk friend of mine
or sometimes
even a strong wind is enough
to reduce it to the floor
but ever day
more likely every night
I pick up this picture frame
this collection of postcards
all trapped in rough wood
which I salvaged from an old pallet
and I put it back up on the wall
I could move it
this picture frame
tack it into the wall better
maybe use seventeen nails
and forty one screws
or I could be more careful
in my rolling desk chair
or more careful with who I invite over
but I don’t
I do not do this
because I like the ritual
the somehow sacred ritual
of the falling of the picture frame
like the ritual of sleep
of breakfast, lunch and dinner
of falling in and out of love
these things that you just do
because it seems they are supposed to be done
because they have been done forever
since the start of your life
holding on and letting go
this collection of postcards
framed in rough wood
is the story of the human spirit
knocked down and rising back up again
and again
and again

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