Seeing the Signs
Between the stoplight at the intersection leading into town
and the office where I spend my day on Courthouse Hill,
this morning, for some reason unknown to me
except that maybe I'm awake to it, maybe I'm not lost
somewhere as often I am on these familiar roads,
wondering at the end how I came this far,
or maybe it's nothing so profound; maybe it's just that I clearly see,
between the light and the hill, the signs--
Clip 'n Curl, Kingdom Hall, Baby Face, Fueled on Juice,
even one that says it's one mile into town,
as if, on this narrow road, you couldn't see or
there were any other place you'd go.
I can't help but think when I see these signs,
of our need to say, Here I am. Look at me.
See me. Need me. Buy me. Love me. Me.
and then I look in the mirror at my red lips
and know these for my signs. Know the me I want to be.
In the yard just before I left for work,
I saw a single beam of sun break through the trees
and streak across the grass to light a poplar trunk
from the ground up through the central branches
to the parachute of limbs. A single line of light,
a sign as sure as any, an announcement: Here I am.
Know me. Believe me. See me. Me.