May 29

Father, (and by father I mean, of course, God)
(and by god, I mean, of course, Mother)

I honed what you gave me to a sharp edge,
carved out the best life I could, failed

(in the sense of getting something right
only on the fourth or fortieth try)

and got back up, tore off the dead skin
that curled and dried with each burn

and kept (meaning, of course, to remember)
the best of your sayings, your wit, your skill

and applied them (meaning rewrote them
in my own image) to every new morning.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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