The Size of Things
Things get smaller as we age,
As verified when we return
To childhood’s home—too small a stage,
Too cramped for anyone to learn
A mother tongue, a social grace,
To ride a bike, to add a sum,
But every place remains in place
And states its earthly, firm I am:
A once-big desk at once-big school,
A shrunken church, a shrunken store,
An oceanic backyard pool
Diminished at its bluegrass shore.
So here our letters were addressed
Once we had left for brighter lights,
Which we’ve since seen, and aren’t impressed.
The old, familiar smallness blights
The capitals of foreign lands,
Stunts their mountains, tames their wilds.
Repetition comprehends
Our making love, and what it yields.
Such secrets as exist are bared,
And after some score years are done
We’re full of time and stand prepared
To face the world to come, or none.
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