Locked down, knocked down, bogged down
Invasive thoughts on speed dial
Scrolled my timeline, then switched to the hotline
What stories did I want left about me?
What stories would be my son’s legacy?

Remembering side stitching laughter, the distracter
Riding bikes in bright Venice beach, no need for speech
Climbing pyramids in Egypt and Belize, the ancients in the breeze
Reading poetry under Central Park elm trees
So, Breath: breathe

Sleep: come deep
Shun shock, take stock
Hold firm on this swerving earth rock

Okay, maybe not today
Tomorrow, await.
Because these cells will regenerate:

To write this poem
To feel the world and accept the stages
To again teach crazy magic classes
To embrace and own my choices
To put down ghosts with a merciful sword
To revel in ideas, wine and risk
To stop apologizing
To hug my son and show him how we survive
That we get up
We choose