Poem: Learning To Live Again


Maybe I will just quite my job

And go back to school

Become a student again

And walk snow-covered paths

Into busy brick buildings

Filled with kids just starting out

They will look at me like I’m some kind of nut

The gray-haired lady in English literature class

Because maybe I could really learn to write a poem

After taking “Poetry Workshop”

Or maybe I could take a class called “Writing In The World”

And get a job as a reporter for NPR

(But I would have to change my name because it’s too boring)

I’d walk from class to class

Take notes

My daughter in college would laugh at me

While helping me with my homework

Or tell me not to bother her

While she was doing hers

Either way it could be no worse

Than being at work

Where the laughter is not the same

But coming from some place outside

Where my walls must be built every day

Like a sandcastle built but washed away by the tide each moon

My comrades in class could joke

But In the end

As the semester drew on and

Midterms and finals and study groups were formed

There in the circle was the gray-haired lady

Very much like someone they know

Back taking that step forward

Learning to live again




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