I ran across an article in last month’s Harper’s about the decline of the newspaper industry. There were two pictures in the article, a sort of before and after picture of a newspaper office.
I looked at the photos and considered the transient nature of everything, how nothing stands against time. It’s all temporal–occupation, possessions, family. Easy come, easy go, and it always goes shrinking. But every thing passing leaves a sort of mark on the next coming.
I’ve taken to jotting quick poems in magazine margins lately. Sometimes I catch the essence of something, other times I whiff. Either way, it’s a good exercise, I think. There is something about etching in stone, or in this case in Sharpie. It’s permanence requires a bit more deliberate stroke.