remembering hope
Questions with concrete answers
Make assumptions about the inevitability of success.
Foolish hope for a thing that is untouchable.
An answer glows; neon signs point in its direction;
Of course it shall be mine.
But in the undergrowth of the path ahead,
Mist dances through the lower branches,
Blurring the winding road and its signs.
There are no neon signs down here.
Only trail blazes pointing
In indiscernible directions.
Water drips from cracks in the rock faces,
Pebbles no longer small things to be trampled
But slippery hazards strewn underfoot.
The finish line would shatter if it could,
But mirages lack the surface to crack.
Without the inevitability of success,
Hope is tenuous. Once,
The strands of foolish hope curled around
Eager outstretched arms,
Risking nothing because everything was sure.
This hope was an afterthought,
A side effect of momentary displeasure.
This type of hope means nothing now.
What words could be offered that bring hope
Down to the level of our striving?
What ferocity of spirit required
To draw out the ancestors of our modern hope,
The ones that sunk talons into refusals,
The ones that broke cages and promises
With a coy—no—bloodthirsty smile?
I believe these questions are the right ones
Because they have infinite answers and
None whatsoever. They have only
The intention of remembrance,
And if hope is nowhere to be found,
Perhaps remembering will do.
