same old, same old

let it go – the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise – let it go it
was sworn to


let them go – the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers – you must let them go they
were born
to go


let all go – the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things – let all go

so comes love


~ e. e. cummings ~

(Complete Poems 1904-1962) .


Sometimes, the lines of a poem, or a song, run through my head at opportune moments.  This is one of those poems.  When I am frustrated, or angry, or hurt, I hear the soft, silent mantra of my literary hero:  let it go, the smashed word, broken open vow

I have a tendency to get too caught up in process.  To be hurt when what should happen doesn’t.  To become stressed when some pre-defined yet really imaginary schedule is not respected.  Let it go, let all go, dear.

Sometimes I wonder, though, why?  Why should I have to let everything go?  Why can’t my needs, my small-d desires, be met?  Why do I always have to wait with my shoes on by the door for 45 minutes after we said we’re leaving a place, thinking of the thousand-and-one jobs that await me at home, thinking of the cranky kids, thinking how stupid I look, waiting with my shoes on by the door, while he begins to make his rounds, saying goodbye, sharing a laugh, or a story, grabbing one last bite to eat, glaring at me for being impatient, there by the door, with my shoes already on.

Let it go.  I always let it go in the end.  And I always wonder why it takes me that process to get there.  Why can’t I just let it go at the beginning and save myself the stress and high blood pressure?  Let it go, give up, give over.

so comes love.


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