This is the part where I ask more of myself.
I can think of a thousand reasons why,
but all I need is one.
Seven days ago, under the Houston springtime sunshine,
I turned twenty-nine and like clockwork,
I examined every year before it.
There’s a story being told even when we
already know what happened. Working backwards,
I see the extraordinary timing of what I lost
and what I gained. I think of the word
Serendipity and hesitate to summarize
my character development with something
as powerful and simple
as fate. I could have sworn I made a choice
and it was the choosing that carried me
forward. What comes to mind is Current
As in force, as in direction, as in the bodies
of water I swam through to reach solid ground.
The past is filled with poems—
ones I wrote, ones I read, ones I heard, and ones I kept
on repeat in my head.
I go back to fixed points in time and look
for the reasons I tried so hard to be understood.
I look at my life like lines in a poem, as if
I crafted myself with the intention of rhythm.
The good news and bad news is I still
want to be understood. And is there anything more
romantic? The instinct in me wants to write
but I digress, but the truth is, I’m right where I want to be, even
If I need more time than I expect. What the winter
taught me was that I am still
a work in progress, even if the love I lost
returned to me like the words to
my favorite song.
And isn’t that what really matters?
All around me, Spring makes it music too
and I worship the small moments
of my meaning. Where I come from is not just one place.
I’m scattered like a vibration, possessed by
the energy of imagination. I could begin a story,
but it would just take me to another.
A POEM A DAY 