surely there must be
a stage of life when
things don't have to be
"just so"
when all your ducks don't have to be
in a row,
when blocks don't have to be
arranged just like the picture
on the box,
when one does not feel compelled
to empty the closet,
turn out the toybox,
search the playground,
just to find a missing glove
that matches this one
surely some other tiny mismatched glove
would do just fine
at keeping little fingers out of snow.
after all,
my love and i are not the same
my work and i are not identical
the good life is full of "good enough,"
of matches that are close
but not exact,
of things that go together even though
they might not look like they do;
they get the job done: keep you warm
or (if you're really smart -- or lucky)
make you better,
the misses in the match
somehow bringing out the best.
surely there must be
such a stage of life,
some time after two,
but before twelve,
after twenty-three,
but before forty,
maybe after fifty-six,
or seventy-one:
a time between times
when figuring out the order of the world
and your place in it
is not so primary,
a time when you don't feel responsible
for keeping it all together,
surely
poem (c) 2015 D. Ohlandt
please only reprint in entirety and with credit given
#40for40