Thursday, May 3, 2012

EarFULL: Here's to here.

Here's to the life's that I am not living.
The Susie Homemaker that I am not.
The apron I'm not wearing
and the food I'm not cooking.
Here's to the diapers that I don't have to change (yet)
and the fact that I can be as selfish as I damn well please.
Here's to the Subaru I'm not driving,
the early morning, rise-and-shine that I do not have to polish.
Here's to the garden that I am without,
the yard that I am without,
and the quiet, empty streets, crickets chirping that I do not hear.
Here's to the fact that this may be the only time in my life where
I do not have to attend any back-to-school night's nor
work on any projects due the next morning.
Here's to the places that I do not live in.
The ones who have the sounds of
basketballs being bounced on the walk home,
wagon wheels creaking as they're pulled up the hill,
dinners being had on the outdoor deck.
The places with bright lights that actually turn off eventually.
The kinds of places where you leave a spare key at your neighbors.
Here's to the alternative universe me
who sees flowers blooming
instead of dead rats.
The person who can open her closet door fully
and doesn't not have to be afraid walking home.
Here's to the other me, somewhere out there,
with a mother-fucking washer and dryer.
I hope she appreciates it as much as she should.

Here's to the truth that I'll get there when I get there and
until there is there, there is only here.
Here's to being able to get any kind of food at any kind of hour
and the magical wave of an arm that gets you a ride to your front door.
Here's to seeing Brooklyn sunrises and Broadway shows
and bar after bar after bar.
Here's to having friends every several blocks
and hearing more languages in a single day than someone who works at the UN.
Here's to never having to see people again if you do not want to and
here's to the inexplicable joy of running into someone you love.
Here's to the thousands of no's that live in this city and
the most beautiful Yes's that are waiting for me.
Here's to crying in joy over a vacuum cleaner
and the fact that I will love my future washer and dryer more than any has ever been loved before.
Here's to this moment that is right now and the knowledge that it is perfect.
Here's to knowing I can leave any second that I decide to
and that it will still be here, waiting for me, letting me return if I want to.
Here's to trusting that you're always where you should be
and here's to the imperfect, ever-changing, growing, blooming creature
that is you,
that is me,
that is here.

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