Change of Plans

Do you imagine that, at this extreme,

I’ve gained the power to explain it all?

No, I can say new powers don’t occur.

In fact, the awful and confusing truth

Is how normal it feels, as if nothing

Were wrong. I must keep reminding myself,

So persistent are the habits of life.

I repeatedly find myself thinking

About a sports team’s chances next season,

Or how inflation will erode my wealth

Or what the Hubble will discover next,

Only to stop short and be reminded,

Like waking up. (Strangely I don’t even

Seem to think about it while I’m asleep.)

I now need to remember everything,

Just to register or retain the past.

There was never enough time to think.

At three years old, standing with my parents

By the front hall closet, as my father

Gets his coat and hat to go off to work.

That gathering would have been in the fall.

That may have been the best year, or maybe

It was seven, or even twenty-nine,

The year of miracles, but let that go.

Normal talk seems to be expected, but

I recall Peter at the very last,

He said I’ll never forget your kindness,

Then caught himself, and could say nothing more.