Notions of Posterity - March 5 2024

 

Notions of Posterity

March 5 2024

Need everything

remind me of impermanence?

The photographs that fade.

The baby pictures

that seem like yesterday.

The dog who’s gotten old

before my eyes.

The winter

that came and went too fast,

reminding me

how many more have passed

than I have left.

My reflection

getting greyer and greyer,

and what little hair remains

receding as I watch.

The stuff I still call new

that's clearly not.

The cutting edge technology

that's obsolete.

Even the tapes I saved

thinking her voice, at least

would last forever.

But the brittle tape broke,

the iron oxide flaked off.

Even the machine

no longer plays;

a spindle broke, a pulley seized

and there’s no one who repairs these things.

Yet ancient tablets remain,

their inscriptions

several thousand years old

are still intact.

Handprints

on the side of a cave

look amazingly fresh.

If I could only press mine

against the cool rock wall,

it would be like reaching over time

and touching the past.

But the past moves faster now

and entropy rules.

For too long

I’ve fooled myself

with notions of posterity.

But now I’m resigned to the fact

there is no forever

and even memory fails.

The tapes, without her voice

are just clutter

collecting dust.

Who knows why I’m saving them.

Or rather

can't bare to throw them out.