Some Yogis in ancient India believed
every person comes to this earth
with a fixed number of breaths
allotted by the Almighty. Once we exhale
our last breath, we leave this life, whether we are six
or forty-six or ninety-seven.
What if we each arrived
with a finite number of words,
say nine hundred million
which sounds like forever
but we spend about seven thousand a day
mostly drivel and dravel
and when we speak our final word,
the one at the very bottom of the basket
“fly” or “freeway” or “fuck”
we would promptly pass away.
What if we kept words safe in a tattered purse or
tucked in winter boots in the back of a closet.
What if we savored words, spent them
wisely, not wasting them arguing over
who last took out the trash
or how many angels can dance
on the back of a bitcoin.
But for sure take out a few for freshly
baked bread or a pot of pink begonias,
when a simple smile won’t do.
Spend two soft words: thank you
and notice how your step is lighter.
%
Claire Scott is an award-winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review and Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t. She is the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters’ Journey in Photography and Poetry.
