September 30: Halfway Point, Saeed Jones, "The Blue Dress"

I am at a point in my life right now that I have to admit something:  I have passed the halfway point of my existence on this planet.  I probably passed it a while ago.

That thought is a little sobering.  I've been thinking about the things I have done and the things I still want to do in the time I have left.  I have had, for the most part, a really good life.  Loving but crazy family.  Beautiful wife and kids.  I've done theater.  Taught thousands of kids about writing and literature.  I'm a published writer.  Poetry and essays and fiction.  And I have fantastic friends.

Don't get me wrong.  I've had my struggles and dark times.  Still do.  And there are things I still want to do.  I want to publish more books.  Want to travel to Rome and England.  Want to go back to New York to see some plays.  Want ONE job that allows me to write and teach and write some more.  Want to win the Pulitzer Prize and Nobel Prize.  Want to see Donald Trump impeached or resign.

Yes, as I approach Saint Marty's Day this year, I'm feeling a little nostalgia, for my childhood and mother and babies and President Obama.  I miss the hope I had in my youth, when I thought I could own the world.  I now know that I can't own the world.  But I can try to make the world a little bit better.

That's something Saint Marty can do with his remaining years.

The Blue Dress

by:  Saeed Jones

Her blue dress is a silk train is a river
is water seeps into the cobblestone streets of my sleep, is still 
          raining
is monsoon brocade, is winter stars stitched into puddles
is good-bye in a flooded, antique room, is good-bye in a room of 
          crystal bowls
and crystal cups, is the ring-ting-ring of water dripping from the 
          mouths
of crystal bowls and crystal cups, is the Mississippi River is a 
          hallway, is leaks
like tears from windowsills of a drowned house, is windows open 
          to waterfalls
is a bed is a small boat is a ship, is a current come to carry me in its 
          arms
through the streets, is me floating in her dress through the streets
is only the moon sees me floating through the streets, is me in a 
          blue dress
out to sea, is my mother is a moon out to sea.