December 4, 2018

bygone

We've been cleaning out the closets for weeks. In plastic tubs we'd forgotten about
live the makings of a magnificent work of art, if only we'd seized the reins
of our initial enthusiasm and sat down at the big table. Now, facing the reminder of our
neglect, it is tempting to force some version of the old fervor back into these raw materials,
rethread the needle of potential. We try this sometimes with winter sweaters or a recipe
for a bygone casserole, plucky with hope that what we'd worn or eaten seasons ago 
might still hold the zest of novelty. But I wonder if we can imagine this reunion for what
it really is: evidence that we are not the same as we were, that time and circumstance have
divorced us from stagnation, freeing once more the promise of our wild yearnings, 
uncontainable as they are. The bin is heavy in my arms. This art belongs to someone else.