You worried a lot in those days about whatever
was deemed "selling out" -- although, from this distance,
the years piled up like so much clutter, I am still
We all wanted, in our own unassuming ways,
to be outside the mainstream, conformity
being the common enemy of the creative soul.
We wanted somehow to be the diamond in the ash heap,
while remaining anonymous enough to observe.
But you were so adamant about it all, so unwavering
in your stance. Buying a house, having kids,
driving a car, getting married, anything you viewed
as commercial, or part of the American dream
was on your list -- and the list was not up for debate.
If you were here now, I would tell you simply
that you never needed to try so hard.
No one would have mistaken you for ordinary.
But you have left now, in your own way, with neither
ceremony nor instruction, rejecting, too,
all the everyday things we do here to mourn,
smoothing and carving our stones, writing our tributes.
Closure is the word we use, knowing that
there must be a suture for the wound, permanent
though it may be, doing our humble best with
our thin and fraying thread, our words, our words,
our hopelessly mundane and routine ways.
