A poem by Malena Mörling
Simply Lit
Often toward evening, after another day, after another year of days, in the half dark on the way home I stop at the food store and waiting in line I begin to wonder about people. I wonder if they also wonder about how strange it is that we are here on the earth. And how in order to live we all must sleep. And how we have beds for this (unless we are without) and entire rooms where we go at the end of the day to collapse. And I think how even the most lively people are desolate when they are alone because they too must sleep and sooner or later die. We are always looking to acquire more food for more great meals. We have to have great meals. Isn’t it enough to be a person buying a carton of milk? A simple package of butter and a loaf of whole wheat bread? Isn’t it enough to stand here while the sweet middle-aged cashier rings up the purchases? I look outside, but I can’t see much out there because now it is dark except for a single vermilion neon sign floating above the gas station like a miniature temple simply lit against the night.
Malena Mörling