{"id":6562,"date":"2024-02-20T12:13:31","date_gmt":"2024-02-20T16:13:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/parmaks.com\/Resources\/a-poem-the-marginalian-3\/"},"modified":"2024-02-20T12:13:31","modified_gmt":"2024-02-20T16:13:31","slug":"a-poem-the-marginalian-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/parmaks.com\/Resources\/a-poem-the-marginalian-3\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem \u2013 The Marginalian"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Profit<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n

\n\n

By Maria Popova<\/h3>\n
\n

I turned the corner one afternoon to find my neighborhood grocer gone. No warning, just gone \u2014 padlocked and boarded off, closed for good, a long chain of habit suddenly severed. <\/p>\n

We know that entropy drags everything toward dissolution<\/a>, that life is a vector pointed at loss, but how rarely we realize that the lasts are last, how staggering the turning of those corners. The friend you embrace in a casual parting not knowing it is the final farewell. The lover you kiss not knowing you will never touch again. Your mother answering the phone in a voice you\u2019ve known forever, a voice you don\u2019t know you will never again hear.<\/p>\n

Even science has tenderness for these unbidden finalities in its term for the last known survivor of a species: endling<\/em> \u2014 an end abrupt yet somehow endearing in its smallness, its particularity, in the way a tragedy so vast and collective can culminate on the minute scale of the individual, the scale on which our lives ultimately unfold. <\/p>\n

And so, a poem:<\/p>\n