The Tale of a Thousand Ifs
The Tale of a Thousand Ifs
If I could save a thousand Ifs,
I would put them away
Under an old black rock
Away from prying eyes,
Away from the soft suppleness of sand
And into the crushing waters.
If I could save a thousand Ifs,
Hide them under a boulder
In the middle of many oceans,
They would look like small
Pieces of myself.
A lone traveler would find them
Years after my bones are dust.
This brave soul would lift the stone
Perched amidst the raging waves,
And see so much of me
In my thousand Ifs.
One would look like a broken trinket,
A thin chain with a whale and a sea turtle
Hanging loosely from its side,
A small butterfly on one end,
And a broken clasp.
He would hold it against the sun,
And fantasize about
The woman who had once worn it.
Another of my thousand Ifs
Would look like an old, weathered journal.
He would open it curiously,
Thinking it is a witch’s tale.
He would wish to find in its depth
The answer to his lifelong questions.
He would hold it gingerly,
Standing in the waves,
And be dismayed upon finding
That every syllable ever written on its pages
Has been washed away by the water,
And there are only spilled ink blemishes
Where once there were words.
One If would look like an old poem,
Which would fly from his hands
And ride the waves
Merrily sailing toward the horizon.
One more If would look like
A blackbird’s song
Etched in glass,
And he would be amazed
At its presence and survival,
For he would be wise in knowing
That blackbirds don’t sing at all.
There would be a small If
Shaped like a pebble
With names on it.
He would not know the names,
Yet he would kiss the stone,
Grazing his lips over it
For he would see the love
In each misshapen letter.
I would have long become
The earth and the wind,
So he would kiss those names for me,
The names I loved in life.
He would see all my Ifs and collect them,
Small, broken pieces of me,
Saved for years and years,
Seasons upon seasons,
Under a rock
In the oceans,
A boulder in the water.
But he would not notice first
Upon lifting the stone,
Most of my Ifs,
Caged for their lifetime,
Flying with the wind,
Breaking, as if they are glass,
And spreading out into the waves,
Ash, scattering in the breeze,
In the water,
Riding the sunlight,
Ash, much like their creator in the grave.
If I could save a thousand Ifs,
I would hide them in the oceans.
Now that’s u: raw power, a benighted longing, quiet haunting melody…
This is one of ur best. No question.
10/10
thank you. you are hard to impress.
lovely!! I always like your longer poems better than the shorter ones cuz they have a narrative which for some reason, makes it easier for me to understand. The singing black bird was neat. I like the ideas of the Ifs, the things you would preserve your life in and I love in the end, the fact that they aren’t forever buried under that rock, they find freedom.
I wud definitely make this one my second favourite amongst all ur work, the first one being “Love is a curious thing.”
Great work, keep it up!
i dont know wat to say..it makes me wanna cry my hurt out…