Issue 5 – Sedlacek

L.B. Sedlacek


Write what you know
(it’s what all the textbooks say)
but what I know is my family, my friends
won’t live forever
and I cannot fix what’s wrong with them —
(so I sit and write)
I think and pray and hope and help
and my hands aren’t idle
like my feet when the homeless men crawl
from under the bridge
staring through my door (smoky glass)
and watch me eat.

I know I should watch my cholesterol, blood

pressure, heart, sugar because it runs in the
genes, but cancer darts through everyone else
I know or brain tumors
(how many can I count on two hands?)

I know the pitter patter of
pawed feet is a fleeting sound
(so I sit and write)

I know the tree’s shade won’t last.

I know people forget you when you move away.

I know the days begin to bleed together
when I used to mark them off with an ‘x’
because they weren’t going fast enough.

The older I get, the more I know.
I wish I knew less.