I had my son pick up some plastic tubs
from the hardware store. Good sized
these, big enough to store dozens of
binders and books filled with my essays
and poetry.
The bins I had them in before were cram-
med full, and way too cumbersome for
anyone but perhaps an Olympic weight
lifter to handle.
I’d hate to be responsible for giving one
of my kids a hernia after I’m gone. They
may feel resentful enough that I would
bequeath to them such a bulky compila-
tion of work in the first place.
Ah, but the collection is a chronicling of
my life over the preceding forty years.
That legacy has got to be worth its
weight to future generations, no?
Anyway, I distributed my volumes a
bit more sensibly in order to make
the load less unmanageable—more
bins, each weighing less than the
fewer they replaced.
A lot of work for me even shuffling all
that stuff around. The kids might just
decide to throw the whole lot out. Who
would take all that time from their lives
to wade through reams and reams of
my stuff?
Hell, the prospect of that process boggles
the mind. I look at those binders in amaze-
ment, sliding the heft of their weight across
the floor.
The longer I go on, the more I think
and say, the more weighty the crop
of my legacy I leave behind becomes
Perhaps there are some words of wisodm
to discover;many mistakes and redundan-
cies most assuredly to uncover.
It would take the combine of someone’s
mind to separate the wheat of words from
the chaff.
I wonder, on the commodites market today,
what a bushel of words goes for anyway?
Suffice it to say, some words by volume carry
a hell of a lot of weight.
-30-
Chris Hanch 7-19-2020 (Rewrite 7-19-21)
No comments:
Post a Comment