there are spaces in-between tangible things,

something that must be traversed

to get from one moment to the next.

not all fragments of time are remembered —

these pieces of our history are spent

with little things and little actions

like waiting, waiting in line,

waiting for the bus, signing cheques,

calling for pizza, walking away

from a break-up, walking towards

a promotion, shopping for groceries —

moments that are glossed over,

used as set ups in conversation,

mere trivialities.


i call this the threshold.


five years ago, i died.

my mortality was made painfully evident

by a piece of paper and some kind words.

and now i wait for the eventuality.

everything eventually.

i habituate the threshold

and have turned every moment

into a glorious landscape

of peaks and valleys.

there are no more trivialities.

the waiting and the walking

are significant moments

all because i still can.


this space between instances

flood the ether and my waking.

Nothing is wasted.

Every fragment of time is heavy and dense,

you could throw it as far as you can see

and when it lands,

a surge of meaning

will tear the subjectivity of time apart at the seams.


Every second is charged and full,

no matter how you spend it.




3 thoughts on “threshold

    • Thank you so much! I hope to refine this work a bit more so that it would have more impact. Right now, it seems a little too prosaic.

      But thank you for the encouragement. I really appreciate it.

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