Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Everything about ourselves is necessary to the story

It is only Wednesday but it feels like an already too long week, at least for me. So it I am grateful that Karen sent along this poem this afternoon, and so I share it with you...

My Life Before I Knew It

By Lawrence Raab

I liked rainy days

when you didn't have to go outside and play.

At night I'd tell my sister

there were snakes under her bed.

When I mowed the lawn I imagined being famous.

Cautious and stubborn, unwilling to fail,

I knew for certain what I didn't want to know.

I hated to dance. I hated baseball,

and collected airplane cards instead.

I learned to laugh at jokes I didn't get.

The death of Christ moved me,

but only at the end of Ben Hur.

I thought Henry Mancini was a great composer.

My secret desire was to own a collie

who would walk with me in the woods

when the leaves were falling

and I was thinking about writing the stories

that would make me famous.

Sullen, overweight, melancholy,

writers didn't have to be good at sports.

They stayed inside for long periods of time.

They often wore glasses. But strangers

were moved by what they accomplished

and wrote them letters. One day

one of those strangers would introduce

herself to me, and then

the life I'd never been able to foresee

would begin, and everything

before I became myself would appear

necessary to the rest of the story.

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