Thinking of this space
as a ship, I wonder if
I’m a passenger
or cargo. Carried
in any case, I consent
to this craft, bow to
another pilot.
When I was young, I felt
the earth traveling—
a loose-wheeled wagon
beneath me—and heard each
shimmy and squeak as
progress. Now a wind bears me
without wing or sail.
Filed under: Basho, Childhood, Haiku, Haiku Sonnets, Identity, Knowledge, Life, Longing, Memory, Musings, Poetry, Sonnets, Thoughts, Writing
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like the childhood description in this one–works well.
Thanks. I was looking for a hinge in there somewhere! —D
You capture so well the feeling of pitching headlong into the unknown as we are carried along on the planet for a ride. I remember the feeling too of the earth moving under me, of actually spinning along in space. I wonder if it has to do with imagination, or if children’s lower weight makes them less susceptible to gravity? Am I being a dunce?
Definitely less gravity. I thought I felt everything then. I could have told you who was walking in the hall by their footsteps. They say learning isn’t so much opening gates as focusing on the “important” ones and closing the rest. That makes sense to me—maybe part of feeling like cargo is the sense you feel so much less than you might. I mean to get some of that awareness back, but I’m never sure how. Drugs are out! —D
Passenger or cargo? Good question. I like the line — the wind bears me without wing or sail.