June 3, 2025

arriving

Note: This poem is composed of first lines from 15 different writings of mine (with a few editorial liberties).

It’s amazing how taking a few deep breaths with two
other people on the same Zoom call gives the illusion we’re
in the same living room. I admit I wasn’t expecting
much after the 3 a.m. wake up, and the rain,
and the headlines, and everything else. The wind last
night felt a few clicks away from those climactic
scenes in the movies where things fall apart. But there are so
many lessons today already, the good kind, where I feel myself
shaking out my mental pockets, examining the lint, tossing
it away. Behind me, the cats are folded in on themselves.
To my left, a list that includes the phrase "Gratitude Page.”
The sound of the washing machine in the other room. How many
deep breaths does it take to change a lightbulb? Three-
quarters of the way in, and I’m trying to figure out what
needs saying. The categories on my phone’s home screen: Travel, Music,
Social, Finances, Weather, Health, Notes, Tides. There’s an empty
plate from this morning’s toast. I’m arriving. Maybe that’s always
the first step. Whether any of this amounts to anything, who knows.
But the light already looks different.