Poem by R.M. Dolin, 2019
Where You’re Supposed to Be
Old oaks yearn to yield more freely
to the Santa Anna’s.
Dust blows through tracks
as rapidly as they’re laid
the same way our past
cascades over a collision of words
left unspoken and moments allowed to pass.
Easy memories are seldom retained,
which is why
we grow hard in the throes of time.
What some call luck,
others call fate.
Others still say
it’s the curse of our ancestors.
Badness comes in bunches
or so at least it seems.
Love is an understanding acceptance
that where you are
is where you’re supposed to be.
Which is why
the question remains,
as it always has,
how are we supposed to know
here is where
we’re supposed to be?
R.M. Dolin, 2019
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