For J

I wonder —

will you see this poem?

Are you the “late J” even as I write?

How I wish I’d had these words, J, earlier today.


What threatens us

What causes us  to contemplate that final taboo

(the last option)

Is big.

No getting around it.

What keeps us here

What stays the trigger finger

halts the hand holding the pills

puts the foot on the brake

Is small. 

So very small!

A promise made to a student to recheck his work

A pang of guilt –who will take my classes?

A book borrowed and not returned

A craft project not quite finished —

by such slender threads as these

are we kept on the stage of life,

the Big Thing notwithstanding.


I hope I see you tomorrow.


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