The Past

I have supposed my past is part of myself.

As my shadow appears whenever I’m in the sun

the past cannot be thrown off and its weight

must be borne, or I will become another man.

But I saw someone wall his past into a garden

whose produce is always in fashion.

If you enter his property without permission

he will welcome you with a watchdog or a gun.

I saw someone set up his past as a harbor.

Wherever it sails, his boat is safe—

If a storm comes, he can always head for home.

His voyage is the adventure of a kite.

I saw someone drop his past like trash.

He buried it and shed it altogether.

He has shown me that without the past

one can also move ahead and get somewhere.

Like a shroud my past surrounds me

but I will cut it and stitch it,

to make good shoes with it,

shoes that fit my feet.