Days crack open like eggs over frying pans,
they leak into the future like the past had hands
large enough to cup them
and carry them out like the great plans
you can’t see through,
but must be seen through to the end.
We’re spending our lives knowing only
that something needs to be handed down,
something we can be proud of
rather than what we’ve already left behind.
This legacy of hand-me-downs
that only begin to fit
the moment we’ve begun to grow out of them.