Lessons Learned

I haven’t learned a thing. Not the useful lessons, like how to sew or how to not cry when a stranger dies.

Even if that stranger  gave you the news like a gift every morning, so you weren’t alone with your thoughts— it’s no excuse.  You have to start somewhere.

But I’m only good in the middle, the safe distance. Where I'm too busy to look for answers, to name before and after. Where I can’t see the forest for the trees.

And you know I can’t name the trees either.

Originally published in the Gothamist/WNYC Poetry Challenge Favorites List.