Alan Soldofsky: Entitled

You know it’s hard to concentrate
when pear trees across the street
burst out overnight, flaunting their 
astonishing plumes of white confetti.
 
Somehow stakes are higher as days lengthen 
and winter surges through its last cycle. 
I feel the pressure pushing down on me. 
In the mail there’s a brochure about planning
 
your own funeral. Who does that? 
On the walkway, a mat of blossoms.
When I look into the agility 
of the air I see what brings life to life,
 
as though entitled to sprout wherever 
it wants. Shouldn’t I be entitled to 
an extra day that doesn’t appear
on the calendar? A moment to be
 
in the moment. Down William Street
the wind flowers. A turbulence roiling
the branches, leaving a trail of debris
against the curb. Hieroglyphs  
 
scoured into layers of mud last week’s rain 
hasn’t dislodged, indecipherable 
as handwriting smeared in the margins of  
a page torn out from a book that’s been lost.  
 

Alan Soldofsky’s books include In the Buddha Factory (Truman State, 2013). He is Director of Creative Writing at San Jose State University.

Copyright 2020 Alan Soldofsky