All these many years later, I no longer ask myself if I’m worthy, or if my poems are good. I ask, Is my life a labor of love? Then I shake my head and laugh. And then I sleep, and then I work. So goes this essay in the dark. So goes my funny little life. So it goes, even without words.
What Will I Give You?
Trouble, mostly.
A dollar here and there,
a loaf of bread,
an occasional bottle
of cheap wine.
Foolish laughter,
many tears.
A child, perhaps,
maybe three.
A midnight wrestle
in the dark.
Years of disappointment.
When you least expect them,
reasons to believe
sprouting like weeds
after a spring rain,
never dwelling on what
might have been.
Collected Poems, April 19, 1999
Also appeared in Barbaric Yawp
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Categories: Collected Poems
Tags: Barbaric Yawp, Essays in the Dark, Labor of Love, Poems, Poetry, Words
