90

I think of myself as a collection of versions
an orchestra of variation
scribbled in the margins
revisions to a song
I’ve always known the lyrics to.

I envision all these lives I’ve lived
and all these stories I’ve told
(even the ones I haven’t yet)
and wonder if I’m proud.

Progress is not a straight arrow
and success isn’t always the goal
but if acceptance was a tune I knew
I’d sing it off rooftops.

I spent my early adulthood always in flight:
exploring new neighbourhoods
drinking to get drunk
being reckless for the sake of it
I’m landing, I think, on solid ground
airplane’s strip
final stop

The air is clean and the money is good
maybe I’ve been home all along.

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9 thoughts on “90

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