It’s summer, and you’re grilling out
with friends. Everyone is love-
buzzed on red wine or beer-slurring
lame jokes about when you had hair
and T’s waist size was greater than his age.
You’re stoned on medical marijuana—
not your prescription—but still
this feeling is more than that.
B and T have a baby now and though you
don’t like children, you like this baby
tonight, whisper in her ear:
Pay attention, kid, it goes fast.
After so many months of sadness,
a whole winter teetering
the familiar edge you’re just,
for an instant, afraid of again, it’s nice
to feel simple and clear.
How did you ever feel that sad?
Someone hands you another beer.
Someone invites you for a secret
cigarette. It’s not that you understand
your life any better, or know how
you woke up, started again. It’s that
you want to be here, right here, in this
backyard under this exact sky with these
good people, and you don’t want
your stupid, tiny life to end.