Becoming, Again

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BECOMING


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 


in the kitchen as a shelf for jars

of dry rice. It might make a nice 


visor when the sun is out, 

or propped up become a camp shelter 


for GI Joe to climb under

when it rains. What it won’t make 


is a home 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 camping in, this soul 

you’ll be dragging back and forth 


across the commencement stage

of your life until you finally graduate


into the understanding that alma mater 

means bounteous mother, womb

in whom we’re never not being born.


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