What a gift it is to be wrong,
To gather what you need
When you need it, to plant seeds
Knowing they will bear fruit.
The rules of survival are too tight,
Requiring you to always be right,
To know every trick for trapping your meal
And stealing your seat at the table.
It’s a game you don’t have to play,
With so many others to choose from:
Denial, rejection, retribution,
To name a few;
Each offers a rich regimen
Of individualized lesson
That will lead to graduation
At your own special pace.
You may be shunned by the world
That you learn you don’t need,
Or told to try again to follow direction
That turns out to be
For someone else entirely. There’s a feeling
Unique to failure,
In the fragrance of the flowers you grew
As they die.
Catalina has reverted to grey, disappearing
To another dimension;
What you thought was clear yesterday
Now is a theory.
Are you courageous enough to let it die?
To advocate boldly
For more things that can’t be justified
But you’ve made a part of yourself anyway?
