Your favorite socks, a phone, your wallet, your keys, an hour waiting on a bus or a train. Your passport, your way. Faith, belief, confidence, self respect, a parent, a lover, or your mother in the supermarket.
Your grandfather’s watch, an argument, your temper, your favorite scarf. A race. Someone to cancer, someone to Aids, someone to depression, someone to drinking, someone to drugs. Some spare change,some cigarette skins. Trust, patience, your mind, your sense of humor. A friend, a dog, a cat, your virginity or your dignity.
-
One Art
- Elizabeth Bishop.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
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