Morning Poem # 2 / by Christina Rosalie

Things I don’t know how to do: I don’t know how to shuck an oyster, deep-sea dive, wear a space suit, read tax code, or order drinks at a bar. I don’t know how to play ping-pong or play with the small irrelevant moments of time that are handed to me to make into something useful; mine. I don’t know how to hang glide, or feel content dangling mid-air in uncertainty between projects or moments, waiting for things to take place or unravel. I don’t know how to fish, or reel myself in on a slender line or balance in thigh-high waders surrounded by the splashing my boys make in my life, always with the compulsion to throw rocks, and yell; always driven to try for whatever it is they cannot do.