Soft Theory

Miré Regulus
2016

– May I live forever, or at least until tomorrow. May 9 1/2 live to see 10.

I agree with my son in soft theory: a long time is a long time
In a life swollen with “I’m bored”s,  “When?”s
“How long?”s and “That will never come!”s
 
It is never framed this square, close and clean
But to a child:
A long time is a long time
 
“I’ve learned that providing relational context for someone in the early stages of rationality is
a struggle and I don’t fight the implication. I most often nod in distraction and agree.”
 
 And between you and me, I concede
Our relationship to time is thin, taut, one dimensional
Always moving forward… Ha! Always moving away
 
And his framing is only born of what he feels from all of us
 
We are in a space of unending, unrelenting choices
Right now the score is unclear about whether we are helping ourselves,
Helping each other on average over all
 
I’d cheer for us as the underdogs, but that’s… inaccurate
We’re the bullies and the refs too
And in regards to the rules, WE ARE BRUTALIZING THE GAME
 
Me, I’m both hopeful and gullible on this issue
So I hold out hope and on this brilliant, special and cosmic Night, I go outside
I ask the sky if she is trustworthy tonight
 
And she looks at me with her one bright eye:
 
“I’ve learned that providing context for someone in the early stages of rationality is a struggle and I don’t fight the implication.”
 
And I blush
If it were worth it and I could avoid being seen I would look away
We both know it’s me who’s inconsistent and untrue
 
I can’t keep a promise to her
Not me, nor any of the other eight billion of us
We are run amok, flighty and frail of commitment it would seem
 
But in soft theory, my son and I agree that a long time is a long time
 
I wake him to see the moon at her apex for this special night
At midnight he stumbles to our front door, opens his inconsistent and wavering eyes to affirm
Yes Momma, it is beautiful, yes Momma, is it lovely, yes Momma, I have seen enough
 
He has seen what I believe is a unique, shining blessing
And in the night he returns to sleep and to re-become himself
Once he’s back in bed I return to the front door
 
Watch the moon watch me
I cry into two hands
I cry up my hope
I cry a promise to myself and to her and to him
To keep my heart open even at risk being torn to nothing
Can me and my 8 billion closest friends hold that simple line?
 
Between you and me, I know promises are flimsy
Our inconsistencies may be of heart
They may reside in our weakness of belief
 
But in soft theory, I agree with my son: a long time is a long time
 
A long time
Is a long time
I tell myself