Been Saying This for Years

Write it down, say historians,

psychologists and storytellers.

Transcribe this lethal month

as if it were your last.

The future will inquire.

Write down the times of sunsets and sunrises,

the egress of snow.

Write down directions to your house.

You never know.

Write down everything you need

in case you find the existential courage to go

shopping so you don’t forget
the loaf of bread or the jug of wine.

You’ll need these later for singing in the wilderness.

Write down the names of everyone you lose

and everyone you cannot bear to lose.

Write down the borders that are closed

between you and your children, the arbitrary lines

that dictate who belongs to whom,

and borders drawn only on the map of the heart.

Write them down to the ground until they are leveled.

Then erase them.

Write down your final wishes

and all the wishes that must come before.

Write down what keeps you warm,

all the quilts half-made and those half-dreamed.

Later we can use the paper to light kindling.

Write down instructions for the care of pets:

who eats what, how much, and when,

who will bite if you touch his belly,

who can only sleep behind your knees.

Write down the names of those

to whom the rules apply.  
Also the names of the exempt.

Note which names are more familiar to you.

Write the love letter.

Write the novel women are waiting to read

whether they have time or not.  Write down

instructions for the women’s children just in case.

This is no time to write about the past.

Write down the present

and share it like a gift.