The Poem I Should Have Written First
For he was the morning I woke to find myself missing.
For he is the river into which I stepped twice and twice, always unbaptized.
For he was the bellyache from too much swallowing.
For he was the storm I swam in while lifeguard stands tumbled end-over-end down the beach.
For he was the storm I stood in that blew sand in my face at 70 mph while I closed my eyes.
For he was the storm I planned to sit out until I learned that my ocean-block had been the 2nd block in the ’62 nor’easter.
For he was the wind that whipped the petals off the flowers and blamed the flowers.
For he was the letter that burned the postman’s hand down to the wrist.
For he is the switch in my hand.
For he is the reason I have teeth.