someday I shall be inspired to marry
a Jewish boy. we’d raise a brood of musical prodigies.
(whatever those are.) my mother would be aghast.
so what do you think? you ask,
brows raised. if only I knew
how you wanted me to answer you
(instead of this wandering and wondering and over-thinking.)
maybe I will just chase the same wretched
dream like everyone else. white picketed
fence. (but what if I don’t like white?)
nonsense, you quipped, white is the loveliest,
and really, know your place.
(is that a warning?) just live this tried-and-true way
(instead of this searching and stumbling and overachieving.)
perchance when I’d see my dreams manifest,
aged like full-bodied wine, then I’d embark on my quest,
brave and stubborn enough to plunge in with nothing
more than a bravado (and this raw heart), risking
what some may consider a pitiful naivete.
I’ve rarely contented to walk the wide and paved way.
(instead just a lot of feeling and fighting and overreacting.)
shotgun theory. I’ve heard that something’s bound
to turn up, if I shoot hard enough. no task left undone.
all chances taken. still this blind waiting; I tire
of this passive silence. (what for?) I grow restless and aspire
to fix–no, I can’t fix anything. (I don’t know
what is askew.) the temptation to bemoan.
(instead of living and loving and overjoying.)
you know that I can’t stand still a moment. vis inertiae.
did you make me this way? or did I stray
off the destined path? I know this incessant
moving, this repeating pattern, thread-bare, familiarly pleasant.
(but no, no longer.) somewhere I will muster
the energy to weave a new one, shining with luster
instead of this running and ranting and overwhelming