I Was Thinking

I Was Thinking

in the narrow confines of a single pageperhaps even of a single life,the made-up can rival the likely,

the way fantastic things can enlivenand expand the possible, but it wasn't longbefore I realized I was sounding like a man

I didn't want to be, who wanted to enlargeand accumulate, deny that the elephanthe had made out of the labor of others

wasn't present in the room. I was thinkingwe needed something like a moral GPSthat would guide us past the ridiculous

obstacles bound to get in the way,a travel-through-your-life self-help bookthat might show us how to get

where we need to be. I was thinkingof a story I wanted to believe—an ambivalent,midlife story, hilarious and sad—

a man I knew arriving at a househe thought was forever hers and his,and finding there a good-bye note taped to the door

Who then wouldn't need somethingto guide him through the coming days?Perhaps a story in which he was better off

without her? Or a tale I'd want for myself,questionable yet true, the blameequally distributed over a lifetime?

Whether he's a liar, seeker, or a manon the moon with a telescope and a dream,I'd want him to be part of an event

that never happened, but was repeatedenough that it might become plausible,like a Lazarus rising from the dead,

or a virgin giving birthto someone who would choose to die for us.I was thinking America needed a miracle.