You cannot set out each day
saying “today, I will be wiser.”
Or quieter, softer, you
cannot begin each minute with
“From this point on, I will hollow
myself and allow others’
words to fill me.” You
cannot write, in your book
of lists and equivocations,
“I become a better listener starting— now.” You
are not a New Year’s Resolution, not a
character description. Know that lists
will only organize so much, and
Don’t live to carry them on your back.
Minutes spent planning
future minutes is a waste of time spent
with yourself. “Read
more quality books, big books.”
“Nod as you listen.” You
write maps for yourself to distractedly
dance across before you
remind your fingers to slide
across the wrinkled paper
and find the compass rose,
Centering. If this life you live is
a circle, live in the middle. Be aware.
Don’t stray far from the
adjectives you want to call your own.
What words there are inside you,
filling you as you’d like others’ words to.
What pages you’ve written with lists of
ways you’d like to write. Know that every second
spent planning is now over. You
are here: stringing together these words
In the partnership you call a poem.
How many times have you squeezed
resolutions between your fingers
and prayed for notice. How many signs
with hopeful adjectives have
you plastered across your chest. The minute
is over and the next has begun, you
are hoping for it to be wiser. Quieter,
softer. Mistaking plans for productivity,
adjectives for the organs that fill you.