Member-only story
Now Is the Time
When we die, we take our stories with us
I found myself writing a eulogy
for someone who hadn’t died yet.
I stood at the front of the church,
explained how life is so much bigger
on the inside, how we only pass on
the moments we live with another.
Maybe that’s why I write them down.
What luck to find a notebook of poetry
or a journal left in the remaining things.
Words for the time the water was still
and the glade was whisper quiet, or a few
ancient reflections on our long creation.
When we die, we take our stories with us,
so I need to ask you now. I need
to write them down for safekeeping.
© Trapper Markelz 2021
If you enjoyed reading this poem, please consider: