tonight to even count this as day one. And, as this is a poem,
I feel obliged to make good use of the moon.
The moon's been good to me--except that one time when the tide
came up fast and I was just two and the ocean nearly
swallowed me. Then there would've been a lot of life
missed, a lot of birthday cakes unbaked, crying spells averted,
that first love never met, three hundred seashells uncollected.
There's so much I'm just barely starting--needed all these extra years
(the undertow the first of several second chances) to get where
I am today. (I am. Thankfully.) I'm not talking about up top any corporate
ladder--or any mountain of any sort. I'm in the trenches, seeding
a garden; I'm under blankets, holding a lover; I'm on my knees,
asking for more than I deserve: another day, a bouquet of flowers.