At Twenty and Two

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“I’m twenty two, but I don’t think I’m young. I think you mature the moment you know what you want to do.”—from a man who posed for Humans of New York, an FB page

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at twenty two i wanted it all:
to be lithe, limber like a ballerina
who can do stretches on the barre
to lengthen arms, legs, feet

i wanted to sing, carry a tune
to its inevitable end
without losing my breath
and the all-important melody

i wanted to jet it to NYC,
live in a shoebox maybe
sell cosmetics at bergdorf goodman
while drafting a novel on off hours

i wanted to parse lines, stanzas
but was always running out
of subjects except for
a young adult’s despair
over having youth, strength,
readiness but near-zero
experience and hurts

now that i’m closer to death
or illness or disability before death
i just live for a glance of sunrise
or moon rise, a probable heaven,
for sips of coffee,
the occasional wine,
the mandatory green tea
but in my dreams
i’m twenty two
wanting and praying

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