As I get older, I find myself
taking my time, the opposite
of what philosophers imagine
authenticity to be.
Heidegger praises anxiety,
the momentum of a rock
tumbling down a cliff face
gathering courage for its final
dive into abyss. But taking time
when it’s yours and you do it
with hesitant fingers—
not grasping outcrops in the long
fall down—does something
to the object taken. You see
time expands in zero gravity,
a parachute in the void
and everything seems
to pass slowly, so slowly
you become absorbed in an ant race.
Growth of grass. Continental drift.
The earth is busy rearranging
its features. You know you will
be there to see it smile
from to ear to ear.
© Noelle Leslie dela Cruz
