Becoming, Again

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 

on a wall 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 a 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 living in, this soul 

you’ll be dragging back and forth 

across the commencement stage

of your life until it finally learns

that alma mater means bounteous mother,

in whom we’re never not being born.