I can admit that sometimes,
What I need is parental guidance.
Is that what prayer is?
I wouldn't trust this with anyone who didn't know all paths
Who wasn't all good, all pure
How close to me before I mess it up though?
Free will as blessing and curse.
I can admit that I've consulted and heard you and chosen my way.
Was it the relationship or the decision as gift?
I can admit that so so much has changed now,
But I still want to come
Relationship as blessing, choice as consequence and gesture.
I can admit that in one reading,
I never had what I needed,
In another, I always did.
My life, in sum, becomes the gesture.
This one reminds me of the poem about a girl kind of turning her effort into some sort of pottery (vases maybe? For flowers?) so much so that the effort IS the product, not in service of making the product. I feel like, at the end of the day, life is just “fodder” (I stole that word from tabs, still use it to this day and think of her all the time) by which we get to add to the overarching conversation. On my best days, I believe the message is always “I love you.” But my best days are far behind, and I have more to say. I think that’s actually all I’ve earned for realizing the conversation—getting to say and hear more in it (choice as consequence). But, for all that complexity, I’m pretty sure it will always amount to that— “I love you.”
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