Year in Review

This wee life
has been triumphant
more often than not
so I will not choose to recall
what is under my nails
or where these bruises came from;

why the squirrels will not
speak my name
or why I know every car
on this street and recognize
their drivers before they emerge
from behind their wheels.

In the small hours
I have watched the day wrestle
to be born. I’ve laid
next to warmth and sometimes
been cold, more often
scalding, always aware
of the pressure on my hip.

There were dark nights
and dark days
but there were also so many hours
that were soaked under a lava sun,
drowning in the company of friends.

I was never too far from the lesson,
though I did forget it now and again:
the time is short and the life is small
in comparison to what surrounds it —
there are miles between moments
you can either fill with hope or despair
and the choice,
if only seen in hindsight,
is no choice at all.
You will live and you will die,
and your life and death are yours
to create or let rot.

If there is a way
to hold this, keep it here
in my pocket or close
to my core, I will hold this:
This wee life can grow or wither.
Choice is all I have,

and so I will forget the names
of drivers and learn them anew,
ask the squirrels to forgive my trespasses
and bake myself brown as often as I can
beneath the volcano that is day.
When I sleep I will not sleep alone
and when I sit up late
it will be for the stars’ sake.
I will be the life I think I am
and take my death as adviser and confidant,
listen to it whisper soon, soon enough,
learn to race it until
we tie at the line
and choosing is finished at last.