My This, My That
       

To live in the moment is probably good advice.
What else is there but the now
of which nothing will remain but memory
already fading and unreliable.
My past is a pile of losses: parents, pets,
childhood, a hometown, ideals, and god.
Born to a countdown yet I make claims
to "my this" and "my that."

But what can we ever possess?
Last night's symphony, the blurred faces
of our dead, the way the wind slid
through the dogwoods of youth
are what we may possess just as the sun
possesses the windowglass it shines through.

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Copyright © 2016 Sarah Brown Weitzman All rights reserved
from New Ohio Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission