I'm Glad of What Keeps Me Afloat There's a house, which is probably chaining me down but there's also the fact: if it didn't, I might float away. There's a garden, and there are a dozen loves —some of whom I can even find right here in this world where I sink my hands in the soil. I want to be loved, and I'm loved, and I'm looking for the world where just loved is enough and it's probably this one. I don't want to die yet but sometimes the reasons I'm here are the size of a seed. Seeds float, but they aren't going to give you a whole lot of purchase at first; you have to water them. And then you hope, and then you might wait a long time. In the meantime, maybe you just pick out a few new notes in a loved old song, a quick harmony. And you pick up the phone or a pen or you do the dishes. You act like you're somebody else's grown-up seed. Copyright Tara K. Shepersky, 2020
The title comes from a song by Johnny Flynn, sung with Laura Marling, called The Water—a lovely and haunting piece. The poem itself has the feeling of a song to me, or it did while I was writing it.
Here’s me reading it, along with a little wandering reflection. If you’d rather skip the chatty bit and just hear the poem, it’s at about 3:25:
No, that beauty with the lime-colored door is not my house. I pass it on some of my longer city walks, and it always gives me a lift. My own home is…ever-so-slightly less photogenic from the street. The flowers are good, though.