BPR 46 | 2019
What do you do
with the time in which
you no longer worry,
no longer undoing
every little victory
as if it were a knot?
I laze about streaming
a hundred and nine episodes
of “Brothers and Sisters” waiting
for the seventy-year-old uncle
to admit he’s gay, and the mother,
The Flying Nun, as old as I
am and grounded, stops
looking for love in
all the wrong places & grabs
a poem out of the air—
the way Ruth said, she took
no credit, just
thought of the universe
& stuck her hand up in it
like a baseball mitt.