The first threshold
I remember crossing
was when I realized
that I was crossing the point in years
where I had not known my mother
more than I had known her.
The grief that came with this realization
was fresh in a way that her memory would never be.
The second threshold
as I am crossing my fortieth birthday.
I knew, on that bright blue day,
that if someone as good as he was could die at forty,
there was no god.
And there is a threshold I have yet to cross
but is constantly on my mind.
I want to live,
longer than my mother.
I want it so much that the beat of my heart has become a clock measuring time.
I want, with my timekeeping heart, to pray to the god I used to believe in to give me this-
just this one thing.
My prayer, for now,
simply travels the wind
begging to cross
the threshold of forty seven.