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 precious nature of small moments—how we act to preserve them in the moment, and how we treat them in our memory. When we see something we appreciate as uncommonly beautiful, such as our beloved combing her hair, we observe in complete stillness and quiet awe so we might enjoy it as long as possible. We think how lovely and fleeting the moment is, and how its fleeting nature increases its beauty. And, in our memory, we protect those moments like silk garments we never wear because they are too fine.
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 especially 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.