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2011-02-17T19:47:33-08:00February 17th, 2011|Musings on life|

Letter to my 90-year-old self

Here I am
inside your rattle
of bones.
Moisten
the part of you
that can find me.

I nibbled off your baby’s
fingernails and ran
an empire. I lived in a closet
twice because the rent
was cheap. I threw legendary
dinner parties. Your husband
taught me to sing.
I was naked.
It was dark. I made
people
laugh.

I am here
inside this fog
that clogs your head.

Claw your way
back to me.

I promised you
when you grew tired
and slow
I would
remind you:

be imprudent
with your love;
wring out your gratitude,
leave no blessings
behind.

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