“On the riverwalk in my hometown
There are a bunch of bridges that you can walk under
And a few years back I decided
That the concrete slab holding up
This one particular bridge would be the bridge that I would write a poem on,
Line by line.
So over the years,
Every time I would go by this bridge I’d add a line to the poem
And then date that line.
Today, after spending an entire afternoon
Reading Bukowksi and Rumi
While listening to Tigers Jaw and Bon Iver,
I visited that bridge to see years worth of work painted over.
I wasn’t as sad as I thought I would be.
Not everything is permanent,
Not everything is constant.
I have been living
Out of a suitcase for the past two months
From the comfort of my own bedroom. I could easily use the closet
But I only spend a quarter of the year in the house I grew up in.
I wonder if all houseflies are homeless.
Often, I feel like a stranger in my sheets. They don’t smell like me.
The suburban streets I used to wander as a kid seemed so unfamiliar,
Like I was a traveler discovering all the nooks and crannies of my cul-de-sac.
Just as I crossed by my neighbor’s crooked mailbox
I noticed a deer up ahead.
We locked eyes
For a moment.
I took a step towards it and it bounded off in the direction of the forest.
I realized that I wasn’t all that different from that deer,
I will go back to that bridge and
I will start a new poem.”
"My Life Is Changing But My Mile Time Isn’t Fast Enough To Keep Up With It" - Nishat Ahmed
Sometimes I fall into these random existential crises