I lived in the Twin Cities for six years and, like just about everyone I knew there, travelled on or under the I-35 bridge quite a bit. My friend Jay, alive and well in St. Paul today, sent around this poem yesterday.
There But for the Grace
It could have happened.
It had to happen.
It happened sooner. Later.
Nearer. Farther.
It happened not to you.
You survived because you were the first.
You survived because you were the last.
Because you were alone. Because of people.
Because you turned left. Because you turned right.
Because rain fell. Because a shadow fell.
Because sunny weather prevailed.
Luckily there was a wood.
Luckily there were no trees.
Luckily there was a rail, a hook, a beam, a brake,
a frame, a bend, a millimeter, a second.
Luckily a straw was floating on the surface.
Thanks to, because, and yet, in spite of.
What would have happened had not a hand, a foot,
by a step, a hairsbreadth
by sheer coincidence.
So, you're here? Straight from a moment still ajar?
The net had one eyehole, and you got through it?
There's no end to my wonder, my silence.
Listen how fast your heart beats in me.
- Wislawa Szymborska
Posted by cmandala at August 3, 2007 08:34 AM