Poem a Day: 27

This Poem That Almost Didn't Get Written

Turns out I almost forgot to write
this poem, engaged as I was in the
ordinary business of remembering,
incorrectly, where I am supposed to

go and when -- instead of writing this,
I went this morning to a meeting scheduled
for next week, only tweaking to the fact
that I was in the right place at the wrong time

when I buzzed my way into the vacant
building, navigating around stacks of chairs
hunched like silent sentries in the doorway,
and checked, in that awesome stillness

that only a renovated church can contain,
the electronic calendar I use now instead
of my brain.  Yes, I almost forgot to write
this poem in the relieved aftermath of

the Big Party, happy to have my girl
home again, safe, after a late night of
revelry across town, and hilarious finery,
and serious adult-yet-not-adult play-acting.

And I almost forgot to write this poem
because of the pain that paralyzed my head
when I cracked open my eyes this morning,
the ache that collapsed my skull

and laid me out, moaning and half-
drugged, on the chaise lounge.  There's
no poetry in that, of course.  Note, too,
that I did not forget to do my homework,

nor did I fail to eat too much candy, or
to reread, for perhaps the 10th time, the story
assigned to my 9 am class. In addition, I
managed to purchase a new sweater and

pants, coffee at a crowded local shop,
and feminine hygiene products.  And now
that I look up and see the clock inching
toward dinner with dear friends, I realize

I've been living poetry, of the most
daily and absent-minded kind, rather than
writing it.  And I guess, when all is said
and done, that I'm okay with that.