If I would have learned to play the flute
when I was nine,
would everything have been different?
Would my body still have gone rogue
if we had moved to Florida
when my mother remarried?
Where would I be if at sixteen I had turned down
that particular request for pizza and a movie
on such a bitter and glacier sharp night?
Maybe I never gave contemporary country music
enough of an unbiased chance
to penetrate my soul and influence my psyche?
What if I accepted the marriage proposal,
when I was eighteen,
from my perpetually wandering boyfriend?
Or should I have kept to the path
I vowed I’d take of never walking down the aisle,
instead adopting babies and parenting on my own?
What would have happened if I bought the large, black truck
instead of the small, red car
that didn’t have a radio or cassette tape player?
Could I have eaten a balanced diet that included plenty of leafy greens,
despite five months of horrific nausea,
when I was pregnant?
If I’d never been cut, stumbled, dropped off cliffs, or simply left to drift,
would I still love this life
with such extraordinary ferocity?
April 27, 2013