The Before Picture

It’s complicated, my relationship status

with progress. I often prefer

the “before” picture. The future

is where I’m going only because

I have no choice, because time

moves in one direction, dragging

a bit of itself behind like meat.

An unseen hand keeps

tugging it—time’s rabbit leg,

time’s hunk of red venison—

just out of reach. Did I just describe

the future as bait? Am I strung

along? I know, when I arrive there,

it won’t be there. Won’t be that.

It’ll be now, the way it is

right now. And again. Refresh,

refresh, refresh. The befores

pile up behind me. It’s now again.

Maggie Smith

Literary Theory

Somehow the word
allow is in the word
swallow and in swallow
two wholly different meanings:
one to take in through
the mouth and another
what we call the common
winged gnat hunter who
is, in all probability,
somewhere near us now.
Once, I thought
if I knew all the words
I would say the right thing
in the right way,
instead language becomes
more brutish: blink twice
for the bird, blink once
for tender annihilation. Who
knows what we are doing as
we go about our days lazily
choosing our languages. Some
days my life is held together
by definitions, some days
I read the word swallow
and all my feathers show.

Ada Limon