This One Life

it is my life.

Perhaps not my one life,
my karmic slate tallying,
next time I want to be a cat,
do I endure?

Or will it be pergatorio for me because
I choose
at this point a
clean and simple place to cook
read work live
pergatorio, Ingvar Lindholm’s
tenors and contraltos
clear voices open to
indicate waiting

No amount of time on my knees will buy me a
seat in Peter’s Heaven, the one I rejected long ago
finding my knees had better uses

My DNA, those twisty double cords, have
little patience with waiting, no
tolerance for life now as a penance for life then
show me your mitzvahs, this your
*one* life, one chance to explore your person hood.

if I spend Saturday lolling in the sun
slow turning pages, slow sipping tea,
if I spend Saturday clapping for horses
who run because its their joy, after
trotting my own because its my passion,
if I spend Saturday working in his old shirt
ratty hair and smeary eye makeup, working and writing,
chanting, until I can chat with you…


It is my life, my one life, and I will look for joy, and
seeing it, seeing it shine in front of me

I will turn in my karmic slate, my bag of mitzvahs, my collected penance, and
trade any other potential future life for this
one life.


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