I studied the heavens, but I fell asleep.
Somehow, I lost my glasses, 
so all I could see were blurry stars, 
if that’s what they were.
My granddaughter sat next to me, 
solving equations.
Don’t you want something to eat,
I asked. Sure, she said, chocolate 
covered raisins would be nice.
I looked in the pantry, moved jars 
around in the fridge. We ate cheese 
and nuts as the mail truck wound 
through the neighborhood.
I got a postcard from Paris, 
she got a new book of stamps.
It was lovely eating our snack, 
reading our mail.
I told her about the labors 
of Hercules, and she told me 
about a kid at school 
who could transform into a goose, 
and fly against the wind.
I was impressed when she pointed out
that they both had made the honor roll.
I gave her a ride home and she promised 
to teach me how to dance, even if she 
had to lift my clumsy feet to get the steps right.
                        

First one was a trial run, there in the womb, 
or in that cloud room where we waited and dreamed. 
I knew you then, listened to you speak and sing. 
It was fun trying everything in that place 
among the stars. When we slipped into this world,
I think I grew a little stupid, a little wild. 
Sometimes I would sneak out with my friends, 
drink cheap wine in the weeds as late night trucks 
rolled past. Sometimes I would climb onto rooftops 
like a fool, and jump. To be honest, I was terrified, 
sure I’d break at least an ankle if not my neck.
Other times I would sit alone, pulling stories 
from the frozen ground, as if the dragon’s teeth 
had sprouted warriors clashing spears on shields. 
The school sent notes, my parents were unconcerned. 
They saw me practicing, working hard at getting it right. 
Oh, mistakes piled up, but that’s what third life is for, 
a chance to go back and do it right this time. 
Maybe we could be hawks up here in the north,
riding the thermals, talons pointed at our trembling prey.