I am that dancer
whose hips were too large
with legs much too short, but now,
with age much too long, I dance anyway,
in rain, no umbrella needed.
I am that actor
who wasn’t a star but lived
to step in shoes and speak new words
from another’s view, and I do, now,
in my own shoes to read my words aloud
for no one else to hear,
no applause, thank you.
I am that writer
without a degree, without training
to make my words matter, but now
they do, if just to me.
I am that artist
of bleary shapes,
where nothing looked as it should
in all the wrong colors, except now,
with my honest companion,
iPhone with camera protected in lilac,
we transcribe through lens and eye,
a pleasure just for me.
He said let them play
and in their play they will find
their good, their passion, their asset,
nothing that shakes the world,
but a design of compassion
and empathy, beauty
and laughter, presence,
the only way to be,
the only one now me.
I’m learning to play.