A favourite poem, it seems more and more apt:
Good Bones
BY MAGGIE SMITH
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
5
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1 comment
Feel free to reply to any comment by clicking the "Reply" button.This is the world my father sold to me and I passed on to my children. Looking back, it left me vulnerable. I see it in my boys too, who are men now, as they navigate a difficult world with a sense of decency. The other approach - letting your children know the truth about the world and training them for - lets children down too in its own way.
brentan
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