LII. fifty-two

time is a distance marked by mile-
stones, but this year has stretched
on without a sign by the side of
the road, has stretched unmarked
from the past year which stretched
unmarked from the past year which
was marked around this time, those
two years by-the-calendar ago, by
an earthquake, and its rumbles still
shake the path, though many have
chosen to ignore it, though many
still lose their footing and fall into
the cracks. the ones who pretend
the shaking has stopped bump
the backs of those reaching down
to catch the falling, and many are
losing their balance. if tombstones
are markers there are too many of
them; they pave the road, but it’s
dangerous to forget what they are
(too many have forgotten, and
then, too many are forgotten).

fifty-two weeks after fifty-two
weeks, the path delving deep into
a tunnel so long it confounds
balance, its decline feeling like
an incline fifty-two weeks ago,
when we thought we were climbing
towards a light. in fact, we were
descending towards a fluorescent
bulb, but many of us called it sun-
light regardless, like queen jadis
whispered it over our shoulder
but we didn’t need her. many
imprinted the light on the inside
of their eyelids and made them-
selves believe it’s still daylit
along the path, but i’m back in
the darkness making myself say,
“fifty-two and fifty-two and i’m
still here, and my family is still
here, and that is not something
to be taken for granted.” there
are no marks along the path and
no light to see them by, but i’m
doing my best to recognize that
my milestones are walking along-
side me. the path stretches on;
another fifty-two lies ahead,
shapeless and unmarked and
obscured by darkness. i will
remain afraid of the earthquake
as long as it raises dust from the
ground. i will take careful steps.
i will listen to the breathing
beside me, and i will try, though it
is already too hard, to be grateful.