I Used to Be {a poem}

July 20, 2020
Day 129

I used to get up early
take the dog for a walk --
on trails behind the house
then past the water plant
with its mountains of gravel
and do not enter signs.

I used to come back home
and sit on the deck
drinking coffee and smoking cloves
and reading poems
until the clock somewhere
in the distance chimed
eight times, telling me to get to work.

I used to sleep through
the night, I used to meet a friend
for coffee, I used to greet clients
at my front door, I used to write
blog posts for 10 minutes
at a pop then post
as practice against grinding
perfectionism that threatened
to erode my true self.

I used to live
in a dumbbell-shaped apartment
and in tiny studio
in a room with its own deck
I used to live in the desert
I used to live in the city
I used to live near a lake
I used to live near the mountains
I used to live with an air shaft
and if I looked just so
could see the river, the sky.

I used to wake up
with small bodies smashed up
against mine, sweaty and matted
hair, and I'd see if I could slip
from bed without waking them.
I used to make breakfast
and lunches and can barely remember
those mornings of getting out the door
preschool, work, days like clockwork
whooshing past one after another
trying so hard not to miss it
(Did I miss it?)

All the selves I used to be
soft pink bathrobe
roof perch
running shoes
closet smoker
morning yoga
snuggle mama
journal writer
cushion sitter
piano player
song singer
poem writer
truth seeker

The other day I was running
and I saw a robin swoop up
into a tree with a swath
of fabric - lace maybe -
in its beak.
I marveled at its mechanism
to select and remember
a construction spot,
its instinctive tenacity
in the name of building
a place for itself and its babies.

Oh inner compass, oh steady heart,
same heart that has beat
with and for me since
this body became my home,
how is it that we move through the days,
marking all the befores
and all the afters,
locating the now that is at once
always leaving and the only constant.

Is it a function of youth
to look ahead and a function of age
to look back?
What is it we are looking for
and how do we know when we find it?

If I were standing
before the ocean,
I would pray to some horizon.
If I were facing a mountain,
I would begin to climb.