Today yet another chance to notice
how often I am wrong. How easily
my voice puts on its business suit
and power pumps and exudes confidence—
how sure I am that I am right! And then,
when confronted with the real truth, what to do
but laugh at the self who just moments ago
was strutting and certain and bold.
What a relief to kick off the shoes
and let the self run barefoot through the afternoon,
ditching her dress, letting the world
laugh at her, holes in her stockings,
holes in her conviction, shoulders
bare and exposed. Feel how the breeze
rushes in through the open door,
carries with it the song of red-wing blackbirds,
touches everything like relief, like
a song about journeys, like forgiveness.
