We have not long to love.
Light does not stay.
The tender things are those
we fold away.
Coarse fabrics are the ones
for common wear.
In silence I have watched you
comb your hair.
Intimate the silence,
dim and warm.
I could but did not, reach
to touch your arm.
I could, but do not, break
that which is still.
(Almost the faintest whisper
would be shrill.)
So moments pass as though
they wished to stay.
We have not long to love.
A night. A day…
In My Own Words
We don’t have long to love things, and beautiful things are fleeting. The things we most love, we keep secret and safe—we only share the things that are not as valuable. I’ve kept quiet while watching you comb your hair. The silence was comfortable and intimate. I could have reached out for your arm, but I did not. I could break the silence of this moment, but I will not. Even the softest whisper would seem loud and rude. In this way, moments pass almost as if they wish they could last. We don’t have long to love something. Sometimes only one night or one day.
This poem is about the fragility of precious, fleeting moments. When we recognize their importance, we wish to prolong them as much as we can, and we freeze. To move a muscle would seem akin to dropping a barbell, and to whisper would feel like a scream. The silent, simple moments are the ones we treat so carefully because they are the most perfectly fragile.
I love the line “the tender things are those we fold away.” That line gives us a sense of jealous protectiveness over the little things we find uncommonly beautiful. I am an incredibly open person and share most things readily, but the things I keep close to my chest and tell nobody about are the ones that are most important to me.
“Some moments pass as if they wished to stay” is another beautiful one, illustrating perfectly how a moment can feel infinite, even in its definitively short space of time. We will the moment to stay so hard, we almost feel successful in keeping it with us for a breath or a heartbeat longer.
I am not normally a fan of Tennesee Williams’s, but ever since I happened upon this poem last week, I’ve had it folded away for quiet reflection in the softer moments of my life.