Coming to Nothing

The day-to-day momentum

carries us with it,

making it impossible to imagine

this all shall pass.


Too much to think this will end,

taking us into oblivion alongside

all of our carefully honed plans,

our exquisite attention to detail.


Who can contemplate that one day

after our turn is done –

and not so very far away –

another, perhaps even a stranger,

will toss into careless piles

our high heels,

daytimers, old Christmas cards,

our favorite sunglasses, our library cards.


Who can comprehend that one day

some distant cousin will glance at a worn photograph

of a laughing, red-haired woman,

and ask with fleeting interest:

“Wasn’t she the writer?”


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