(subtitle) 99 reasons why Avery
and Roah should get married.
Star light, star
bright
First star I see
tonight
I wish I may, I wish I
might
Have the wish I wish
tonight
One.
This poem began four years ago. It was a Tuesday. It began
when this hippie looking kid showed up in my class even though his name didn't
appear on the roll. I still wonder if the world has any record of him at all.
This poem began when she enrolled in Creative Writing and I first noticed that
she liked to destroy 99-cent journals with her talent. This poem began when I
realized that every time he cut his hair, her hair grew longer.
Two.
I met my
wife when I was in high school. So obviously that logic must work for everybody.
Avery and Roah. Roah and Avery. There are too many reasons why this union makes
sense.
Three.
When she was in my class...I wanted to teach her, but I also
wanted her to teach me. It's like she was my daughter and my big sister at the
same time. And he was like our black sheep cousin who kept getting drunk at all
the barbecues and asking us if we wanted to go into business with him selling
soap or fire alarms or whatever. And maybe this union would never work because
incest even seemed wrong to Shakespeare and maybe they already went out once or
maybe she's rubber and he's glue and
apples oranges and pineapple too.
Four.
It just feels right. And I think that's all love is anyway.
Who cares if it makes sense? Who cares if everyone's on board? All I know is
that I woke up last night at 3am with heartburn and a stomachache. And it didn't
go away until I wrote this poem.
Five.
You know, on second thought, maybe this ain't such a good
idea. Maybe it's not fair to them. Or even more important, it's not fair to us.
Because one day they might have children and one day those children might wear
glasses with no lenses and be vegetarians and have punk haircuts and wear
ironic t-shirts and listen to music that nobody's ever heard of before.
And one day they might pick up a pen and the universe will
never stop expanding.
It's not fair to the local libraries they'd live next to.
It's not fair to thrift stores.
It's not fair to the middle of the night to pluck two stars
out of the sky just so I can sleep better. Maybe I should just shut my blinds
and quit teaching my kids to wish upon stars. Because Pinocchio was just a
movie. And none of us will ever have this wish we wish tonight.
Six.
Avery, Roah. Whatever you decide, you'll always be married
in my mind. And when the time comes, I'll tell all of your adopted children
about you. In fact, this afternoon, I practiced this poem for my sophomores and
they looked at me like I was crazy. Sometimes that's what our children do, am I
right? Avery? Roah?
I want to carve your names into the trees that will one day
become the covers of composition notebooks.
Avery and Roah. Say it with me now. Avery and Roah. 2012.
Four more years. Now that's something that would truly save America. That's
something that could actually get me to register to vote. So if you won't do it
for yourselves...at least do it for your country. Do it for Paris or Alaska or
the moon or wherever you guys are living now. And be sure to write me when you
do. Because innovation is in a recession. And hope and change aren't just
platforms for fundraising. They're all that ever mattered. And all that ever
will.
