One of my artistic fascinations is time — the way it moves in tension with our perceptions and desires, the way a moment can stretch to infinity while a decade may pass in a blink.
Almost two decades have blinked since I wrote the first draft of today’s poem, but it captured one of those infinite moments, a fleeting instant I can still remember with crystalline clarity.
Slow River
Hot tea in white mugs and a conversation that meanders like a slow river, back and forth over the terrain of our lives. And in this window our reflections sit in their own café, belonging wholly to the night yet somehow immune to the rain, where they share their own secret river over phantom mugs of tea, sometimes glancing at us with shy smiles and little nods of recognition.
This poem, the 17th I ever wrote, may be the earliest of my poems I ever share publicly. (There are three other earlier candidates, but they all need another decade or so of editing. Check this space circa 2034. 🤣)
I think of my poems less as things I intentionally set out to create, and more as teachers that come along and offer a lesson to me while I’m working on them. This is certainly one of the first poems that really opened my heart to that idea. It taught me a lot about what I want to do with poetry, and I’ve been exploring the landscape it showed me ever since.
As such, I’ve been thinking about this poem a lot this past month, during
’s February Poetry Adventure, and so I wanted to share it with you.And if you would like to share it with someone else or on social media, I’d be honored and happen to have this handy image all ready for you:
Thanks for reading, it means the world to me,
~ A
P.S. — The February Poetry Adventure was so much fun! So much brave, wonderful poetry and support from the community here on Substack, and on Instagram, too. If you’re curious about the poems I posted, I have a week four roll-up you can browse. Most of the other participants were also posting poems under Petra’s Notes this month, so be sure to check those out as well.
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Oh, my goodness, this is so gorgeous! I love the playfulness of the reflected images interacting with their "real" selves. This is just perfect, I love it. Especially "belonging wholly to the night
yet somehow immune to the rain." You've got a Billy Collins vibe here, and you know that's a compliment coming from me. Thanks so much for sharing this.
Adam, this poem and commentary are both deeply powerful.
I know exactly what you mean about being able to feel even decades' worth of time as one, fully connected instant. It's very mystical, and perhaps we often take it for granted. How strange that this would ever occur, given that we lose (or at least mostly lose) consciousness every night, go through different states of mind, even the molecules in our body cycle themselves out over time...and yet this "illusion" (so say neuroscientists and meditators alike) of a self is so strong, across time and space. Fully seeing this makes me a believer. In what, exactly? I don't know. But whatever it is, I don't think it cares what we call it.
Went on a little philosophical tangent there, as I am wont. Anyway, this whole post really touched me. Thank you so much.