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Monday, August 26, 2013

Today Would Be Perfect

A poem I wrote in June of this year that had disappeared when I misplaced my journal and was recently rediscovered today (when I found aforementioned journal).

"Today Would Be Perfect"

Today would be perfect
  If I could drive to your house while listening to my Kathie Lee CD and bring you lunch so we can eat lunch together and watch Millionaire.
Today would be perfect.

Today would be perfect
  If we could travel back to 2002 and watch "our girl" skate on international TV and win not only medals and competitions but also our hearts.  Or even if you called me to tell me one of those skating shows is on and you know our girl's not skating anymore and it's just not the same but you think I'd like to know anyway.

Today would be perfect
  If I could be four years old and work the puzzles on your coffee table at the apartment and lie on your couch and talk to you for hours and when I wake up in the morning spin in the chairs in the living room while keeping an eye out because I know you'll tell me to stop even though you're stifling a laugh.

Today would be perfect
  If I were walking around with you and gathering pretty autumn leaves and riding my bike around and around the driveway in the cemetery and having you time me to see if I beat my record.

Today would be perfect
  If we could talk about politics, Desperate Housewives, or the Cats--especially the Cats--and if it were a Sunday night and I were in college and you called to do your weekly check-in at 8:52pm and then you called on Wednesday or Thursday, even though you say you don't like to call me at college because you're afraid I'm busy but you just had to check on me because the rain is making your bones hurt and it makes you think of me and how you hope I'm not hurting.

There would be so many things that would make today perfect. 
The thing that would make it the most perfect of all is the elimination of the word if--
if simply denotes a desperate longing that transcends all emotion and penetrates deeper with the painful reminder that the ifs are no longer "can be"s.

I hate the word if.


  1. This makes me very sad and then I have to think how very lucky you are to have these memories. She dearly loved you.