BEFORE the POETRY READING

I want to thank
God, goddess, fate,
those who work in the otherworld
office of lifespans
where decisions are made—
perhaps before we are born—
about just how long
we’ll slosh around in our given bodies,

which is perhaps dependent
on our core curriculum,
individualized as it is,

which is perhaps also dependent
on how much we apply ourselves
to our lessons,
once we can name them.

The point is;
thank you, Powers
Greater Than I,
for letting me live longer
than my dear friend who was mowed down
by a rogue cancer
after she finally had enough money
to drop the day job,
buy her dream home in New Mexico
and let her art flourish wildly,

longer than my first adult love
who was more passionate about cheap wine
than he was about me, or his health,
or about figuring out what his
lifetime course of study
ought to be.

Longer than my poet friend Byron
who once wrote me a poem
that began with
The essential shape of a woman is a circle,
which, knowing Byron
and the foolish arrogance of the young,
may have been a quote from someone else.

Thank you, angels of grace,
fortunes of a relative privilege,
faithful hands of life’s own deep
longing to replicate itself

for I am here, six decades in,
just beginning to understand
what I was plopped here
to do
and be
and not to be

This is a poem of pledge:

I shall not take this assignment lightly,
nor toss aside any chances
to stand open-mouthed,
make eye to eye with any listeners

while singing, singing
my own wild, tangled,
hopelessly heartfelt song.

Photo by Yatsima Matsaeva on Unsplash