A poem by R.M. Dolin, April 2026
C’est La Vie
There's a subtle surrender that settles
over a soul
in the aftermath of everything going to shit,
a chaotic calm resting
within a quiet resignation
that silently drowns
in sirens of shock
and symptomatic signals of estrangement
mixed with a withering indifference
to callous calamities causing
the cavalcade of confusion,
all of which winds up
getting tossed together with
a testimonial topping of
c’est la vie.
From chapter 9 of the R.M. Dolin novel, “An Unsustainable life – The Book of Issac.” After Issac’s world crumbles, he sits alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of everyone who’s abandoned him. It’s the opening paragraph of the chapter.
Started in Casablanca, Morocco and finished while on the train to Marrakesh. C’est la vie is a French expression for “that’s life” a subtle way of shrugging your shoulders, saying “oh well,” and accepting the shit-storm of crap fate’s causing you to dealing with.
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