I woke up the other night with a bad dream.
I wondered if I was having an anxiety attack.
Or something worse.
My head was foggy and I shook it as I looked out the window.
I moved my hand in the darkness to the right
My finger tips reading the stitching on my favorite quilt to find steadiness.
There it was.
The strength and broadness of his shoulder under our quilt.
I waited for the snore that let me know I was safely at home.
I thought of all the things I still need to do.
Pee. Get a soda. Feed the cats. Grind up whatever I
I dropped into the disposal after supper.
Keep writing the stories I already know,
and get started with those being born every day.
Work on that assemblage that’s been haunting me.
Finish that cross-stitch piece that’s been nagging at me from its drawer.
Tell Claudia I am thinking of her and sending all the stars to light her way.
Tell Dave how much I love him and I’d give him only the good things in the world if I could.
Tell Miracle how much I wish things were different for a little girl like her.
Tell my mom I’ve forgiven her I and love her because I’m not sure she really knows.
Tell my sister I wish we knew each other better because I’m not sure she really knows.
Tell Lisa I love her and wish we could see each other more.
Odd how half a city and busy schedules can separate friends.
Tell Nadine—again—that she saved my life
when I was just 15 years old,
and set me on a course that led to so many wonderful things.
Tell Ken how much his cranky laughter is missed by everyone.
So many things. So many messages.
So many people I’d want to leave messages for.
This made me want to write my own obituary–
not as a goodbye to anything, but as guide
for how I want to live all of my days.
I did get up and pee. I fed the cats and got a soda.
I felt much better as I slid back into our bed.
But we can’t wait.
We can’t wait.