In this, the day after the occasion
of the fulfilment of a cribbage hand
of years since my father’s passing
i talk at length with some of my kin
and realise, it’s more than time
to renovate You and Me Against the World
though it must be said that has kept us alive.
Imagine what we can do, all of us, if we say
You and Me For the World.
In a similar vein, i imagine my father
who’d had to kill to stay alive, pounding
his fist on a table somewhere and declaiming
against the foolish slang of slaying it. As if that is
to be desired, rather than what one does at need.
So, for his hard-gained wisdom, and my own
having birthed and assisted at births, and knowing
what joy that travail does bring, i now speak of
excellent work as Birthing It.
This seems to me to be much more exciting, daring
and in boring old fact, accurate to describe feats
of artistic, athletic, or other performative excellence.
When the muse descends, when the act transcends, we
do not kill the moment, we bring it to life. We breathe
upon the spark of inspiration and shiver in the wonder
of its bursting into some brilliant new pulsing, living thing.
Art and athleticism, and human attainment of all sorts
add life. We reach toward something so strong, so pure.
We who are audience are midwives, hands outstretched
hearts alight with the recognition, in this new, transcendent
luminous moment, the best of all that we ever are or could be.