What should I say at the final accounting?

I only wish I had learned quadratic equations  

as well as Einstein or the calculus of baseball  

as well as Ruth or Rose or Donald Hall  

Wish I’d stuck with bookkeeping or shorthand

or some other employable skill or taken to any  

subject as well as the know-it-alls.  

How do I defend attending daily  

divided by distractions and mastering no thing?  

I could say too many confusing battles ensued  

before a purpose with its pin pulled

rolled into my quarter. I could say  

there was the divorce, the children, the Red Cross,

or that, as with any enterprise bound by rules

my brain simply has no system for storing such files.  

Granted, I should have mastered fabrication

or painting or some fine art, should have practiced  

guitar and typing and piano and hand quilting  

Dutch hearts onto white muslin with even red stitches

before the arthritis set in. These are excuses,

not accepting responsibility. I admit: I waste hours

watching the raspberries ripen, golden heads of dill

nod in a hot breeze. or remarking how well  

the tomatoes and sage grow this year. I confess  

to days wasted rocking on the deck

sipping imported red varietals  

while counting crimson cardinals  

flitting from cedar to oak and oak to cedar; freely

admit to evenings frittered following the flaming  

maples as they blaze up the yard at sunset.  

Yes, I cop to wasting time shopping

for the red rhinestone-studded collar

now worn by the black cat rescued

from the roadside in the rain

at barely four weeks old. Yes, I held her  

for six weeks solid rather than reading poetry

or astrology or anything of substance. Sat still,  

silent, and reminisced on decades spent dreaming

of someday when all of it should come easier.

By Shelly Norris

From: United States

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/Shelly-Norris-Writes-Stuff-104252991185591/?modal=admin_todo_tour