Becoming, Again

BECOMING, AGAIN

There really is so much you can do 

with a high school diploma: make 

a ramp for your matchbox cars, or 

get some brackets and hang it 

on a wall as a shelf for jars

of rice. It might make a nice 

visor when the sun is out, 

or propped up become a tipi 

for a miniature you to climb under

when it rains. What it won’t make 

is a house for someone of your 

stature, or—try as you might to coax 

it in the air—a magic carpet 

to carry you there. No, it’s still this 

body you’ll be living in, this soul 

you’ll be dragging back and forth 

across the stage of your life

until it finally learns that alma mater 

means generous mother, in whom

we’re never not being born.