to take the detour, the
I-don't-know-where-I'm-going
wandering way. To stand
a little longer
in sun-soaked arms
even if they
have to wait.
It may not be convenient
to press pause on a life
going wildly too fast—to go back
if you've taken too
many steps forward, to drink
a cold glass of water slowly—
just because.
Don't let them hurry you. It is your pace you must find.
It's okay if you're late
because you need
to scribble down a few more
words, sing hallelujah
with the seabirds, hold her hand
just a little bit longer.
Let them wait.
Maybe today is the day
you'll light the candle, open
the good bottle of wine
write love letters in the sand
even though the tide will come
and wash them away.
Maybe today is the day
you'll see
that life
is conveniently right here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We are people of convenience.