I will sit in the sun
for an hour someday soon.
Eyes crunched tight, fists
squeezing and relaxing,
trying to act. Trying to make amends.
I know what the odds are that it will work
but still, I have to try.
It’s the only chance I have
to be remembered the way I’d like.
Even as I try
to choose the right hour,
the best day for the last
and most important thing
I will ever do correctly, a change
at the place of self-definition —
for my originating definitions
got me here, and have proved
to be worth nothing.
This isn’t me, I tell
myself. I’m not this
level of failure. By doing this
I will redeem and erase that —
it’s literally selfless action. And then,
we’ll all be free. All of us, all of you.
I would have liked
one last minor triumph
of my own choosing, of course.
Would have liked one last
modest glory of the sort I’d come
to accept as my lot — but
this is my lot. To sit in the sun,
thinking about how good it feels
even as I plan to reject it
in favor of the dark. Is it a failure
if I stay, or a failure if I go?
Is there really any way to change?