Not a Race
A poem by Lori Levy

Not a Race

It’s not a race, but it feels like one—
the way we hold our lists to the light each morning,
deadly serious to tick off all we can.
To get things accomplished, as my grandma used to say,  
neglecting to mention it’s like that game in the video arcade 
where we hammer down heads that keep popping out of holes, 
pounding and pounding, but there’s always another, 
and, no, we can’t stop or we might miss our chance 
to win a toy or a title or a big, stuffed Self
to display like a trophy:  responsible, successful.

Yet if we’d stop, we might remember
our name will be there at the end.
A marble slab in the grass.

 If we’ve thrown our lists down here and there
and waltzed in the white spaces,
there may also be carnations.
Or stones
someone bent for and chose—
and bent again to set down and 

arrange, lingering for a moment,
breathing in beloved,

carved just beneath 
our name.

About the Author:

Lori Levy’s poems have appeared in Rattle, Nimrod International Journal, Poet Lore, Paterson Literary Review, Mom Egg Review, and numerous other online and print literary journals in the U.S., the U.K., and Israel. Two of her chapbooks were recently published, one by Kelsay Books and the other by Ben Yehuda Press. Levy lives with her extended family in Los Angeles.

Some of Lori’s poems can be found on IG@lorilevypoems

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