Thank You

You know, I'm an ass. And I have to just stop all that.

I've been walking around for a week trying to get it into my head that I have to finish The Book because now it's going to be an Actual Thing and letting people make a Fuss over me and all.

What. a. jerk.

You, my dears, my friends, my parents, my brother, my grandparents, everyone who ever buoyed me up or tore me down, inspired or repulsed me, please or irritated me, kissed, sexed, dissed, or held the tiger when I needed to get off, or vice versa, or put up with me when I was insufferable and would have told myself to f*ck off, or all of the above : Thank You.

Maybe all you did was buy me a cheese burger that semester I was broke back in college. Or maybe all you did was open yourselves to me and let me cherish you. Or maybe you let me open and cherished me. Or you called my on my sh*t. Or maybe you were a really good opponent or enemy. Or maybe you came unwound or I came unwound. And maybe we just managed to sit quietly together for ten minutes. Or maybe we just didn't fit together in this life and realized it. Or you gave me a pig with wings because you wanted me to remember my talent for the impossible. Or you made me a CD called The Flying Pig Mix, which is, to this day, my personal and most perfect soundtrack. Maybe you met me at a conference and I gushed about my book, and you said, "Gee, I'd like to read that." Or you let me keep learning to write poems. Or, you were Lucia who said, "You, S, You Must Read Irigaray -- here, take my copy,"because you knew I would find a home there. Or you were Edrie and you called me Dr. and said, "This will be an important book." Or you were JP who said once, "Anything I can do for you," which shook me. Or you were anyone I had the chance to be kind to, or wanted to hit with a hammer -- or both. Or you just showed up in my life and I get new adventures because you're here. Or you taught me John Donne, or Habbermas, or Adrienne Rich, or Fichte, or Edward Dorn, or Lyn Hejinian, or Kathy Acker, or Aristotle, or Christine de Pizan, or Hugh Kenner. Or maybe you were that woman I walked past at the bus stop who just up and said, "Bless you, child" because I was there, so I said, "Peace be with you" and kept hiking in the cold to the coffee shop.

Or you wrote a book I read. Or a poem I think about in shower. Or you're Charles Mingus, or Ella.

You helped. You helped me learn to bow and stand tall at the same time.
Head down and chin up, as we say in my family.
Peace be with you, each.