What I Did for the Moment

How long did I wait

Before I turned around

Did I have to leave a note

To let you know I held my ground

I was making something of myself

But you could never see

How hard it was to fail that big

And still believe in me

Pride is driving fast on cracking ice

Desperation’s knowing that you can’t afford the price

Try to get it right and you run out of time instead

Waking up alone in someone else’s unmade bed

You wouldn’t believe

How far I’d go to try and make believe

That you were finally starting to believe

That I saw you and you were seeing me

And at that moment, it felt right

And at that moment, I was wild

I had twice my grandma’s wisdom

And I felt just like a child

At that moment, I was who

I always thought that I could be

And you wouldn’t believe

What I did for the moment

The clock tells you a fairy tale

Your face says something else

You don’t remember who you were

But you remember how you felt

You got all the troubles in the world

So why not write a song

And the one person who loves you

Turns out to be all wrong

You wouldn’t believe

What it took to make myself believe

That you were never ever gonna leave

And I thought you would end up here with me

And in the moment, it was fine
And in the moment, it was good
I was trying like a fool
And doing what I could

At that moment, I was who

I always thought that I could be

And you wouldn’t believe

What I did for the moment

But the moment's in the ground
Before you get the chance to grieve
And you bury it with everything
You thought that you believed

You're left with just a memory
Of a time that never was
And you realize that passion
Can sometimes masquerade as love

And for a moment, you're in charge
And for a moment, you're not lost
And you can pay off all your love notes
And not worry 'bout the cost

At that moment, you pass by
All the places you never got to see
And you can't believe
What you did for the moment

Sweet Relief

I remember standing

Like I never understood

Watching all the leaves blow by

Across the neighborhood

Then I heard the news

About the boy I left out west

Months without a phone call

But I never would have guessed

He found relief

Sweet relief

Driving to the exes house

To pick up all my stuff

He’s heading to Texas

‘Cause he says he’s had enough

Now we’re standing here

Debating optional goodbyes

I would love to laugh at him

But just for fun, I’ll cry

It’s a relief

Sweet relief

Why don’t you change?

Why don’t you grow up?

Why don’t you take a trip somewhere?

Too much to do

Too little time

Too hard to act like I could care

So when you let go

What do you know…

It’s a…relief

Looking at the funeral photos

Judging all the dresses

Thinking of the fools you’ve loved

And all your famous messes

Sitting on your mom’s porch

Sipping what she had in stock

One day you’re made of nothing

Then the next day you’re a rock

And now, relief

Sweet relief

You can figure out yourself

Just call out sick from work

Apologize to all the guys

For all your little quirks

Move back to the basement

And cut loose from all your friends

You’ll have another comeback

And we’ll see where this one ends

What a relief

Sweet relief

Who says hello?

Who’s checking in?
Who would depend on you at all?

It’s only a blip

A fall or a trip

Who’s even left for you to call?

You’d better let go

For all that you know

It’s a…relief

There’s so much to do

And not much of you

Better try now

To make it somehow

So when you let go

You’ll finally know

Sweet relief

Vacation Photos

A living room.  JULIE and JOHN are just arriving home.  There’s a tension in the air.

JULIE:  Okay, I didn’t want to bring it up.

JOHN:  Just say it, because I’m probably thinking the exact same thing.

JULIE:  When we were at the Green’s—

JOHN:  Yes?

JULIE:  Were you a little put off that they—

JOHN:  --Didn’t show us their vacation photos?

JULIE:  Yes!

JOHN:  I KNOW!

JULIE:  Did we do something wrong?

JOHN:  I have no idea.

JULIE:  Why else would we be over there?

JOHN:  I know.

JULIE:  They just came back from a vacation.  They invite us over.  They casually mention how great the trip was—

JOHN:  Once.  They mention it once.

JULIE:  Oh, I’ll get to that.

JOHN:  And that was after you prompted them—

JULIE:  Imagine if I hadn’t.  They probably wouldn’t have brought up the trip at all!

JOHN:  We would have just been sitting there—

JULIE:  --Not talking about the vacation.

JOHN:  We barely talked about it anyway.  I was furious.

JULIE:  I wanted to scream.

JOHN:  Who are these people?

JULIE:  Well, they’re supposed to be our friends.

JOHN:  Friends show you photos of their vacations, Julie.

JULIE:  I know, John, you’re preaching to the choir here.

JOHN:  And they kept taking our their phones like they were going to show us photos of their vacation and then—

JULIE:  Nothing.

JOHN:  Nothing!

JULIE:  Maybe they assumed we saw the photos they put online.

JOHN:  So what?  That’s it?  No sharing vacation photos at dinner parties anymore?

JULIE:  Maybe.

JOHN:  Then why even have dinner parties?  Why don’t we all just sit home on our phones and scroll through our friends’ vacations?

JULIE:  I mean, we do that already.

JOHN:  EXACTLY!

JULIE:  And Chris kept asking about me.  Did you notice that?

JOHN:  How could you not?

JULIE:  How are you doing, Julie?  How’s work, Julie?  How are you coping with the loss of your father, Julie?

JOHN:  Jesus.

JULIE:  I don’t want to talk about me.  I live with me.  What’s to talk about?

JOHN:  It was so weird.  They’re weird.

JULIE:  For a second, I thought he was hitting on me.  I thought—Oh my goodness, is Chris hitting on me right in front of John and Abby?  Then I realized he was genuinely interested in me, and it was like—

(She indicates her mind being blow.)

--You know?

JOHN:  Yup.  At first I was like—Oh okay, he’s just hitting on her—and I was going to maybe punch him or something—

JULIE:  You were never going to punch him.

JOHN:  No, I totally wasn’t, but I thought about maybe punching him before I realized I wouldn’t, and by then, I figured out that he was just interested in what you had to say, and then I really wanted to punch him!

JULIE:  It was sick.  It was like some kind of mind game.

JOHN:  I mean, there we are, waiting to hear about vacation and see some photos—

JULIE:  I was expecting at least three hours of photos.  Maybe four.

JOHN:  --And he’s asking you about that cancer scare you had while they were gone.

JULIE:  You would think my cancer scare was more interesting than their vacation.

JOHN:  You can’t talk about a cancer scare for four hours.  Cancer maybe, but not just a scare.

JULIE:  No, a scare gives you, like, five minutes of conversation—tops.  Maybe ten.

JOHN:  Maybe ten.

JULIE:  Hey Julie, I heard you might have cancer…Nope, turns out I don’t…Oh, that’s great.  That’s it.

JOHN:  That’s it.

JULIE:  That’s the most there is to talk about.

JOHN:  It’s pretty cut and dry.

JULIE:  Boring, really.

JOHN:  But wait, didn’t the doctor say he wanted to keep an eye on it?

JULIE:  John, please, I really don’t want to talk about it.

JOHN:  Right, sorry.

JULIE:  I figured as soon as we were done talking about that, they would bust out the phone and show us their photos.

JOHN:  Do you have any idea how excited I was for tonight?

JULIE:  You were so excited.

JOHN:  (Overlapping on the word “so.”)  I was so excited.  I didn’t even eat today, I was so excited.  I skipped lunch.  Now I’m starving.

JULIE:  Why didn’t you eat at dinner?

JOHN:  Because I was so mad when I realized we weren’t going to see the vacation photos that I completely lost my appetite.  It’s just coming back now.

JULIE:  I mean, they could have showed us one photo.

JOHN:  One photo!  I’m not asking for a lot.  One—two photos, tops.

JULIE:  Just something.

JOHN:  Just something to make us feel like we matter.

JULIE:  Like we’re not garbage.

JOHN:  Sitting there looking at that wilted arugula salad.

JULIE:  The salad was actually delicious.

JOHN:  You know what—I thought to myself—it looks wilted, but I bet it’s delicious.

JULIE:  It was so well done.  The wilting was because of this steaming thing that Abby does to it—

JOHN:  Steaming?

JULIE:  Yeah, but more complicated than that, like, with special herbal steam or something—

JOHN:  I can’t believe I didn’t eat that salad.

JULIE:  I ate yours.

JOHN:  Yeah, I remember.

JULIE:  I was just trying to be polite—even though I wanted to stab the two of them with my salad fork.

JOHN:  We should have asked them for the recipe.

JULIE:  Who knows if they would have told us, John?  Who knows what they’d tell us?  It’s like being friends with MI6—maybe everything’s going to be a secret from now on.

JOHN:  Next time we’ll go over and say ‘How’s the weather, Chris?’ and he’ll say ‘Oh, the weather.  It’s the weather.’

JULIE:  How was work today, Julie?....Oh, it was work.

JOHN:  We may as well be eating with mimes.

JULIE:  You know what I’d like to do?

JOHN:  Egg their house?

JULIE:  No.

JOHN:  Okay, sorry, I thought we were on the same page.

JULIE:  I—would like—to set up another dinner date.

JOHN:  Are you—

JULIE:  Here.

JOHN:  Here?

JULIE:  Yes.  Here.

JOHN:  Why?

JULIE:  Just hear me out.  They’ll get here.  And in the living room—we will have—a projector.

                (A beat.)

JOHN:  You are…amazing.

JULIE:  We will show them every photo from every one of our vacations.

JOHN:  Julie, we go on vacations constantly.

JULIE:  I know.

JOHN:  We just went on one right before they went on their’s.

JULIE:  I know.

JOHN:  I’m not even sure I still have a job.

JULIE:  I KNOW.  By the way, how are we doing financially?  Are we—

JOHN:  It would take hours to show all those photos!

JULIE:  Hours?  Days.  It would take days.  Our trip to Dubai alone has over eight thousand photos devoted to it.

JOHN:  Remember that day I just walked around with the camera glued to my face snapping at anything that moved?

JULIE:  Oh, I remember.

JOHN:  I mean, it was actually glued to my face.  I glued it there just to make it easier to take photos.

JULIE:  I remember.  You barely paid any attention to me.  Even though you knew how nervous I was about that man who robbed me when we first got—

JOHN:  So back to this plan.  You invite them over—

JULIE:  I invite them over—

JOHN:  And project all our photos—

JULIE:  I’ll get a screen.

JOHN:  No.

JULIE:  A projection screen.

JOHN:  You will not.

JULIE:  I will.

JOHN:  You will not.

JULIE:  I WILL.

JOHN:  I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS IDEA!

JULIE:  It’ll be like the 1950’s except none of us will be Communists.

JOHN:  That is so good.

JULIE:  And when it’s all over, we’ll turn the lights back on, stand in front of them, point to the projection screen, and say—‘That!—is Friendship.’

                (A beat.)

JOHN:  I couldn’t possibly love you anymore than I do right now.

JULIE:  After we get back from vacation, I’m calling them up.

JOHN:  Yes.

JULIE:   And then I’m going online and buying all that projection stuff.

JOHN:  I just lost my appetite again.

JULIE:  This is going to be rich.

JOHN:  That’ll give ‘em something to talk about.

JULIE:  Plenty.  It’ll give them plenty to talk about.  Not like tonight.

JOHN:  What did we talk about tonight?  I wasn’t even paying attention.

JULIE:  Oh, they kept bringing up politics.  And current events.  And literature.

JOHN:  Geez, how did we even stay awake?

JULIE:  I do this thing when someone’s boring where I visualize entire episodes of Law & Order in my mind.

JOHN:  I just try counting to a million.  It makes me look like I’m concentrating.

JULIE:  Hopefully we’ll have better luck at the Cantor’s tomorrow.

JOHN:  Oh, is that tomorrow?

JULIE:  Yes, I forgot all about it.

JOHN:  I can’t wait to hear about the new baby.

JULIE:  I know!  It’s so great.  We haven’t gotten to hear about a baby since the Porters had twins.

JOHN:  Have you seen anything online about the baby?

JULIE:  The new one?  The Cantor’s baby?

JOHN:  Yeah.

JULIE:  No, but I figured maybe they just hadn’t gotten around to…

                (A moment.)

JOHN:  If they don’t talk about that baby—

JULIE:  John—

JOHN:  If I even have to ASK to see a photo of that baby—

JULIE:  Johnnnnn—

JOHN:  Julie—

JULIE:  John—

JOHN:  Julie—

JULIE:  It’s a baby.  Of course they’re going to want talk about it.

JOHN:  They better.

JULIE:  It’s a new baby.

JOHN:  Yes, but—

JULIE:  What else is there to talk about?

JOHN:  I’m just a little skittish after tonight.

JULIE:  It’ll be fine.

JOHN:  It better be.

JULIE:  It’ll be fine.

JOHN:  Okay.

JULIE:  By the way, do you think tonight we should try…

JOHN:  Let’s not.  I’m tired.

JULIE:  Okay.

                (A beat.  He exhales.)

JOHN:  You know, it’s like…

JULIE:  Yes?

JOHN:  It’s like people just don’t know how to talk to each other anymore.

                (Lights.)

                End of Play

How to Travel War Torn Countries With Former Artists Who Feel Guilty All the Time Because They’re Not Poor Anymore

Remember when I wanted

To be a singer?

I used to sing in clubs
And bars

And you would come watch me

And we’d get out at 2am
And go get pizza at Jack’s

Then fall asleep in the living room

On the couch my mom gave us

In that rundown apartment

On Fields Street

Sometimes…

Well, I think about that apartment

And the couch
And the bars

And pizza from Jack’s

And I think about us—now

And how lucky we are

But I…

Do you remember why we came here?

Remember?

I was going to be a singer

And you were going to write

And we were really going

To make a go of it

And then I took the job at Porter/Morgan

Just so we could afford to live

And you started helping out

At the coffee place

And it was all just temporary

Until one of us broke big

That was the plan

Remember the plan?

How long ago was the plan?

Eight years?  Nine

But you know now—

Now, we….

We take these nice vacations

We go to London

We go to Japan

We go to Paris, Australia

We’ve actually run out of nice places to go to

And now we’re going to not-so-nice places

Just because it’ll be more interesting

And we get good pictures

And we have fun stories
And we live a life

So many people would kill to live

But it’s not, you know

The plan

And it’s not that I miss singing

It’s that I’m scared

I’m scared because I don’t

I don’t miss singing

And I should
I should miss it

Because I was good at it, you know?

I was really good at it

I mean, I studied it

I pursued it

And now

I’ll be sitting at the firm

At my desk

In my office

An office else in the firm wants

Because it gets so much light

And I close all the blinds

And just sit there

In the dark

Whispering to myself

Like a crazy person

And do you know what I whisper?

How did I get here?

I don’t know when I started doing this

But lately, it’s all I do

I come back from lunch

Sit in the dark

And whisper—

How did I get here?

How did I get here?

I mean, does that seem

Normal to  you?

Maybe it does

Maybe you do it too

Maybe you go to the back of the coffeeshop

And close the door to your office

And do the same thing

You know, I told my friends about it

About the whispering

And they were like—

Oh, well, yeah

That’s—yeah

That’s what happens

Things change

Plans change

People change

Everything changes

But the blinds are drawn, you know?
The blinds are drawn

And I’m sitting there

And people are walking by my office

Wondering if we’re getting a divorce

And I’m losing my mind

Because I’m sitting there in the dark

After eight years

Eight years

In this place I never wanted to be

I never wanted to be there

I wanted to be in a bar

Late at night

Singing

And seeing you

In the back of the bar

Smiling at me

Making no money

Worrying about rent

Worrying about bills

Worrying about what would happen

If we ever decided to have kids

Or buy a house

Or grow up

You know?

But…

But doing the thing

The thing

You know?
The thing?

Remember the thing?

What the hell happened to the thing?

And next month we’re going to Miami

And two months after that we’re going to Toronto

Then Ireland

Then L.A.

Then Spain

Then Finland

Then Egypt

Then Russia

My god—why the hell are we going to Russia?

Is there a reason?
Could there possibly be a reason?

Other than the fact

That we need to be doing something with our lives

Other than working

So we can afford to live

In a city

We moved to

To do things

We’re currently not doing?

Could that be it?

What’s next?

What places can we go to

To create this impression

Of an interesting life

A better life

A life better than late night pizza

And secondhand couches

And neighborhoods like where Fields Street was

Where the trash never gets collected

And none of the fire hydrants work

The kind of life you live

If you stick to the plan
And stick to singing

And writing

And you don’t sell out

Because one day you looked at a paycheck

With six numbers after the decimal point

And suddenly you realized things could be easy

But what’s the point of having it easy

If you just punish yourself for it

By traveling so damn much
When you don’t even like it

God, I do not want to go to London anymore

Or Paris

Or any of those places

And those are just the nice places I don’t want to go to

Forget Egypt

And Russia

And China

I mean—are we really going to go to China?

What’s next?

North Korea?
Syria?
Iran?

Oh, how our friends will admire us

When they our photos

From various countries around the world

That all suffer from oppressive regimes

And endless war

God, we should offer tours

Tips

Write a book

How to Travel War Torn Countries

With Former Artists

Who Feel Guilty All the Time

Because They’re Not Poor Anymore

I just…

I just…

I…

I should miss it

Singing

I should miss it

And I should miss how I was

How I used to be

And you should miss how you used to be

Because…

I do miss that

You
Us

How we were

I don’t miss singing

And Fields Street

And passing out

With pizza grease all over me

But…

I miss you

And I don’t know when I lost you

I don’t know when you were here

And when you were gone

I don’t know when that all happened

How long have we been like this, you know?

How long have I

Been sitting

In the dark?

Courage

Courage is my granddaughter

Let me explain

When I was younger

We were taught

All of us, all the kids

Were taught

That we

Were not special

Now, I don’t want to make my mother and father

--Well, mostly my father—

Sound cruel

He was Russian

So was my mother

And where they came from

Being special

Got you in trouble

Sometimes it got you killed

They had a very, uh, village mentality

When it came to looking at the world

The way they saw it

Your job—was to be a citizen

Of the village

And that meant

To contribute

And be a good neighbor

And blend

In

Somebody who was a show-off

Somebody who stuck out

Who drew attention to themselves

Those were
Not

Good people

And that’s how we grew up

Me, my three sisters, my two brothers

All of us

Blend in

You are not special

You are not unique

You are a citizen

Of the village

Now, there’s an effect to that

A side effect, I guess you could say

Yes, we all became good neighbors

Yes, we all became decent human beings

But—

What my mother and father may not have realized

Is that when you teach kids they’re not special

And that they shouldn’t try to be special

Something happens

A few years after my second daughter was born

I was at the supermarket

Getting something for dinner

And out in the parking lot
I saw this man

And this woman

And they were fighting

It was just shouting back and forth

But then the man grabbed the woman

By the hair

And pushed her up against this car

She struggled with him

And at one point

He turned her around

And slapped her right across the face

I…I didn’t know what to do

I got my daughter in the car

As fast as I could

And I…I just drove off

When I got home

I told my husband what happened

And he was horrified

Not just at what I had seen

But how I had reacted

‘Why didn’t you do anything,’
He asked me

‘Why didn’t you go back in the store

And phone the police?’

But you see—

That’s not what someone does

If they’re trying to blend in

That’s how you draw a lot of attention

To yourself

I just…I just wasn’t the kind of person

Who could do that

Who could, you know, be the hero
In a situation like that

I called my sisters

And they said the same thing

One of my sisters even described

Seeing something similar

Outside a restaurant once

‘I kept hoping someone else

Would do something,’ she said

‘I kept hoping it wouldn’t have to be me’

You see, every once in awhile

Life

Requires some

Heroics

But heroes are special

And if you’ve been taught

That you’re not special

And that you shouldn’t want to be special

Then…

You see someone who needs you

And you can’t do it

You can’t

Help

After that day, I started to wonder

Could I have done something

If that was my daughter

Being beaten up

By some guy

Could I have stepped in

If it was someone I knew?

Someone I cared about?

I wanted to believe I could

But…

It was hard not to doubt myself

Which brings me to my granddaughter

Fast forward about a million years

And I’m a grandmother

My granddaughter is six

And I’m picking her up at school

So we can go buy her mom a birthday gift

Well, when I get to the school

The kids are all out on the playground
Waiting for their rides

And I see my granddaughter

Talking to a friend by the swings

So I wave to let her know I’m there

And she can finish talking to her friend

Then I sit down on a bench

To relax for a few minutes

A few feet over from my granddaughter

This boy—this really tall boy, god those kids are getting taller every year—

He’s standing next to this smaller boy

And he pushes him

He pushes the smaller kid down

On the ground

And starts yelling something at him

The bigger boy had to be at least nine or ten

And the smaller boy looked to be about my granddaughter’s age

And I instinctively started looking around

For a teacher, somebody who could help

The smaller boy

But when I looked back at the two boys

My granddaughter was standing

In between them

She was pointing her finger at the older, bigger boy

And she had this determined look in her eyes

The bigger boy said something to her

But I couldn’t hear what it was

She took a step towards him

And he turned

And walked away

Then she helped the smaller boy up

And went back to talking with her friend

I was…stunned

Here was a six-year-old girl
Doing what I couldn’t

As if it was

The easiest thing in the world

You know, the thing about kids today

--And yes, I say ‘kids today’ sometimes—

The thing about kids today

Is that they’re not scared to be special

Now, sometimes that makes them look

Entitled or obnoxious or vain

Sometimes it means endless online videos

And photos they take of themselves

And being loud

And acting out

But you know what?

There are side effects to all that

Really

Good

Side effects, like—

Like not being afraid

Like seeing something

That needs to be done

And doing it

And not worrying

If it means

Someone’s going to notice you

Or think a certain way about you

Or tell you to mind your own business

I never really wondered about courage

Until that day on the playground

I never thought about my parents

And asked myself if it ever occurred to them

That by teaching us how to be people in a village

They were also teaching us not to have courage

Not to be brave

Not to stand up for anybody
Even ourselves

You know…

One of my sisters used to have a boyfriend

Who used to say the most awful things to her

And my brother had a wife

Who treated him like garbage

My other sister has a boss

Who totally takes advantage of her

And my other brother barely says

More than two words a year

My youngest sister died

Because she was too scared to tell her doctor

About the lump she found

She didn’t want to make a fuss

She didn’t want…the attention

And then there’s me

And that woman in the parking lot
And how quickly I drove away

I think of that

And I think of my granddaughter

Who’s always on her phone

Who’s always got an opinion

Who’s always ready to burst into song

Or tackle her brother

Or tell you exactly what she thinks
About something

Who isn’t scared of a fight

And I think—

Thank God

Thank God

And screw the village

You wish for so many things

For your kids
And your grandkids

But sitting there on that bench

Watching my granddaughter

Stare down that bully

I thought about

How sometimes we forget

To wish for courage

We try to give them the world

But then we don’t give them

The courage to face it

But luckily for me

My granddaughter

Has courage

She is courage

And who knows?

Maybe I’ll keep being lucky

And some of that

Will rub off

On me

Can I Drive By Your House?

Can I drive by your house?

The house where you used to live

You don’t live anywhere now

Not that I know of

Not that I’m aware of

Can I drive by your house

After leaving a bar

On a Tuesday night

And park the car

And turn off the lights
And sit on the side of the road

Wondering who’s living behind

Your windows now?

Can I sit and wallow
Just wallow

While I chew my gum
So I don’t bite my nails off

While I listen to songs

That weren’t around
When I knew you

But which I’m sure

You would’ve liked

As I let the engine clear its throat a few times

Telling me to get on with my night

That I have work tomorrow

That I have places to be

And this house is not your house

And the car parked in your spot

Is not new or owned by you

And that it’s pretty likely

Every single thing

Now sitting inside that house

Has never

And will never

Belong to you

Can I watch cars go by

And wonder where they’re going
And how long it will take them to get there

And whether it’s home

Or the home of someone else

They used to have around

What if we all drove

To someone else’s house

Right now?

The person that moved

The person that left

The person that stopped calling

The person we stopped calling

The person who could still be there

But we’re just not sure

The person we know

Isn’t there

Anymore

What if we all sat outside

Those homes

Those apartment buildings

Those condos

Those places

Sat in our cars
And our taxis
On our bikes

On the ground

Looking at where we used to go

And try to remember

The first time

We went there

After we realized

That behind that door

Was someone we loved

Remember the way

We pulled up

With the radio playing

A song about love

Where the music dropped out

Right before the second-to-last chorus

And we went through the door

Like we were walking into forever

The rest of our lives

Among those rugs

And that furniture

And that person

Who lived there

And knew us

Back before needed to drive by an old house

To remember

Who we were

That person cooked for us

And talked to us

And made us laugh
And watched tv with us

And gave us a place in the world

To be someone

We couldn’t be

Anywhere else

And imagine if everyone

Who lived inside those places now

Opened their doors

And said—‘Come in’

Imagine if they let us

Walk through those rooms

And touch those walls
And sit down on the floor

And try to get back

Some of what we had
Back then

What if some of that person

Was left behind

In the air

Or the carpet

Or the electrowaves

Or the peeling wallpaper

Or the wifi

Or the wood splinters

Could we know that?

Could we—?

If the world were a place

Where doors were always open
And you knew where people went

And nobody was too far away

Or gone for too long?

Those are impossible questions

With invisible answers

For now, I’m just wondering—

Can I drive by your house?

And think—

I used to know someone here

I used to have

A place

To go

If You Were a Number

Can I tell you something?

If you were a number
And you were a hundred
You would be
A hundred days of spring

Does spring even have a hundred days?
Who knows
But the only hundred you could be
Would be spring and spring and spring and spring
And on and on and on
For all one hundred days

If you were ninety
You would be a healthy ninety-year-old woman
Who's had a vivacious
And jam-packed life
Full of dangerous passion
And motorcycle rides

If you were eighty
You would be eighty soft lights
Lighting up a New York skyline
So that two distant lovers on a train
Heading out of the city
Would look back
And wonder
If they should have tried
A little harder
To make it work

If you were seventy
You would be seventy pieces of candy
In over seventeen bags
Collected by children
On Halloween

Good candy
No, great candy
Full-size chocolate bars
And peanut butter
Everything

If you were sixty
You would be sixty
And sixty-four
So you could be a Beatles song
Because what in the world
Could be better
Than being
A Beatles song?

If you were fifty
You would be an anniversary
Shared by two people
Who don't remember
Not having each other

They have no time in their minds
Before love
Before being in love
And they would be you
And you would be fifty years
Of all that love

If you were forty
You would be a man having a mid-life crisis
Until his young daughter
Touches his hand
While they sit together at a movie
And looks up at him
As if he's her hero
Because he is
And she's his everything
And he almost forgot that
And then he remembered
And forty--which was FORTY!
Became--Forty
And he went on with it
And you were that little girl
Reminding her father
That numbers are wonderful
But also, just numbers

If you were thirty
You would be thirty days
After a heartbreak
When you're just beginning
To close up your wounds
And inch towards
Whatever comes next

If you were twenty
You would be twenty missed phone calls
From friends and family checking in on you
Because they want to say 'Hi'
And 'We miss you'
And 'Come home'

If you were ten
You would be a ten-year-old boy
Who got everything he wanted
On his birthday
Even the bike his parents said
He shouldn't expect to get
When they knew full well
They were going to get him the bike
Those cheeky parents

If you were nine
You would be the nine lives
Of a woman with all the luck in the world
And all of the lives would be exciting
And all of them would include funny hats

If you were eight
You would be eight pages left
In the best book
You've ever read

If you were seven
And my goodness
You really are a seven
You fit seven so well
Well--if you were seven
You would be seven small words
Written on a note
To a husband going on a trip
From his wife--

'I'll see you when you get back'

Seven small words
But when sincere
All you need to hear
To know that you've done all right in this world
Because you have somewhere
To come back to

If you were six
You'd be six puppies
Surrounding their mother
Waiting to be fed

Yes, you can be puppies
You can be puppies
In a poem about love
There are more original things
Than puppies
But why be original
When you can just be puppies?

If you were five
You would be
FIVE GOLDEN RINGS
Because you have to be
Right?

If you were four
You'd be four hours
Of laying in bed with me
With me staring at the back of your head
Wondering if you're smiling
As my arms go around you
Feeling you
Drift off
To sleep

If you were three
You'd be a wish
To be a number
And a wish to have the number to be three
And then three more wishes
Because that's how you beat
The Three Wishes Game

If you were two
You'd be me
And you'd be you
And we could be two
And two could be one thing
While still being two
And wouldn't that be something?

And if you were one...

...Well

You are one

That's the whole point

You are
One

I mean, honestly...

What else could you be?

And a Stranger Holds Your Hand

If you try to kill yourself

By jumping off the Porter Bridge

In Scoville, Massachusetts

You will find a stranger there

It won’t be someone

You expect

But then again

Who ever expects

A stranger?

At that moment

Seeing anyone you know

Would be a turn

In the wrong direction

A well-intentioned move

By the Universe

To steer you away

From your impending action

And the Universe

Though kind

Is misguided

No

What you needed

Was a stranger

The stranger helps you down

And the stranger gets you a blanket

From their nearby car

And the stranger has no interest in you

But also doesn’t want you to die

Because people shouldn’t want other people to die

It’s just not how things should be

This stranger sits in their car with you

And plays Jackie Wilson

And doesn’t say a damn thing

Nobody tries to get you to talk about

Why you wound up on that bridge

Looking down

At your next step

Nobody tries to get you to cry

Or yell

Or let it out

Nobody tries to tell you things

Your whole life

You’ve been told things

But not now

Not in this car

Not with this stranger

At some point

The stranger reaches over

And holds your hand

And it’s a gesture full of meaning

And without intention

And so it is the loveliest gesture

You can possibly think of

Because when—

I mean, really, when—

Does anybody

Ever

Hold your hand

Anymore?

When was the last time

Someone reached over

And held your hand

As if to say

In the purest

And truest way—

You’re not in this alone

And what is this?

This life

This place

This set of circumstances

And you are alone, aren’t you?

Because who do you have?
Aside from this stranger

In this car

As the rain lets up

And the radio plays

And cars start to come and go

Up and down the bridge

Because, oh look

It’s dawn

It’s daytime

It’s another damn day

And you’re here

Yesterday was a good day

To jump off a bridge

But the odds of that day recurring

Twice in a row are—

You have to admit to yourself—

Pretty slim

So you sit there

And watch the cars go by

And Jackie Wilson sings

About love

And what it can do for you

And a stranger

Holds your hand

And somehow

What you needed

Arrived

Just in time