Here's a Day
I’ve enjoyed writing for many years. I'm dedicating more time to it in retirement.
Here’s a Day
A hand appeared from nowhere
Connected to nothing
Proffered a lump of clay
“Here’s a day”
A faint voice
An aura expanding
Then contracting
“Make of it what you wish”
Then the presence
Was no more
I took the offering
Turned it over
And over
In my own connected hands
Could not remember
Ever
Seeing one of these before
Receiving one as a gift
Or knowing one as one, anyway
And would there be more
How do I handle this
Treat I’m bestowed
Should I carve it
And craft it
Should I pocket it
And run
Away from the sun
As it ascends
Transcends
Dark confines
Turns itself
From growing arc
To glowing ball
Above the line of land
That
From where I stand
Behind me
As far as I can see
Is approaching so quickly
It will easily outpace me
So no
That’s not a plan
To conserve
Preserve
In a pouch
This malleable thing
Neither charm
Nor possession
Nor everlasting
Like a gobstopper
Uncle Willy used to make
Indeed
It already seems smaller
The shape remains
Unrecognizable as something else
Indescribable as what it is
But it recedes
And I need to heed
What I’ve been told
It’s softer than gold
But more valuable
By far
That no jar
Or compartment
Or sack
Or receptacle
Or safety deposit box
Or vault for riches
Can hold
But I’ve been told
So I know
And I believe
Now I must go
And make good use of it
Before it fades
To naught
Or worse
That hand reappears
From nowhere
Connected to nothing
And the quiet voice
Nearby
That belongs to
The shrinking
And growing host
Asks me the question
I fear most:
“What did you do with your day?”
© 2021 greg cain
Comments
Ruby Jean Richert from Southern Illinois on January 16, 2021:
Your poem has meaning, Time is precious, let's make it count.
Bill Holland from Olympia, WA on January 16, 2021:
This made me smile. What, indeed, will I make of this day. Let's find out, shall we? Beautifully-written, my friend.