What a wondrous thing to suddenly be alive
eating Natalie’s lingonberry jam from Alaska,
where she picked the fruit herself with one seeing eye.
In this tumultuous world we’re living in—
with the one-hour news loop—my thoughts
linger, more and more, on the darkish side
as I sit at the table with Mr. & Mrs. Spork,
who still ask me, Are you married yet?
But Natalie’s lingonberry jam pierces right
through into some deep, essential place,
where I am my own master and no sodomy
laws exist, and where, like a snowflake,
or a bee lost amid the posies, I feel
autonomous, blissed-out, and real.