I Didn’t Know I Wasn’t Supposed to Love

Another thing I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to love until college was squirrels. My babysitter in New York would take me to the park, and when I’d point my mittened hand, she would call

Here, SquirrellySquirrellySquirrelly.
SquirrellySquirrellySquirrelly.

I thought it was a call. Maybe it was more of a song.

I thought she really believed it would work. Maybe I really believed it would work.

I didn’t know I loved that babysitter until right now. Did she know she loved squirrels?

Did she love squirrels? Did she love me?

I watch one, now, gently depressing the highest regions of the newly bare trees.

“Rats with tails,” my college roommate called them, and with one flick of her hand, they were transfigured: dirty, diseased; not even worthy of eating.

But witness now the acrobatics, the ballet, the way their backs ripple with muscle and determination.

Everything begins in mysticism and ends in politics, says Péguy.

But did he tell us how to get back? Can the process be reversed?

Many of my dear friends and fellow scribblers are writing daily these days, and maybe you are too. We’re part of a longstanding tradition called 30 Poems in November, and we write to raise funds for the work of Center for New Americans, a local non-profit that supports newcomers to this country on the level of goods, services, helpful information, English lessons and more. I am posting first drafts of my poems daily on my blog, although I am defining “Poem” loosely. I would be grateful if you would sponsor me and/or another poet. All funds go directly to Center for New Americans.