Lucky by Kirsten Dierking
MARGINALIA • SKIP TO THE POEM
Has it ever happened to you, on some random morning, while you’re making coffee, or sweeping the floor, or folding your clothes—you suddenly think about what you did so many years ago? My goodness, you think. How could I have said that. Did that. Gone through that.
And then you turn your head to glance at something, and you forget again, you’re here now in the present dialling your sister talking about lunch, you’re opening your fridge to see if there’s still a chocolate bar for dessert. You go back to your desk to work, and then the days pass, weeks, months, and it’s your life, the one you keep, isn’t it.
When my dog was still alive, she does this thing when you call her name. She tilts her head sideways, tongue lolling out, as if listening, as if it’s the first time she’s heard being called, as if she’s surprised she has a name. Then she runs towards me, and it’s my turn to chuckle in delight, half bewildered and half astonished that I am a recipient of such boundless love. As if somewhere in the universe someone has decided, yes. Yes.
Here’s something very few people know about me: I was named so because someone thought I was part of a star.
Many years ago, I started with a poem, not knowing where to go. Look now, around this place. Look at years of my life, the one I’ve known, and the one you’ve witnessed. Perhaps this is amazement.
All this time,
the life you were
supposed to live
has been rising around you
like the walls of a house
designed with warm
As if you had actually
planned it that way.
As if you had
stacked up bricks
and built by mistake
a lucky star.
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This poem appeared in Northern Oracle by Kirsten Dierking, published by Spout Press, 2007. Shared here with profound gratitude.
[expand title=”Dear Reader” tag=”h6″]
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