I could have died at 10 when I stared too long at the medicine bottle

or at 17 when I parked on the tracks, wishing the train would come.

I could have jumped off a balcony the night the bastard dumped me

or hanged myself with the rope once tethered my swing to the oak tree.

I could have ignored the friends who tried so desperately to help me.

I could have quit taking the antidepressant before giving it a chance.

Much as I didn't want to be "on anything," I slowly felt it unfog me,

after a few weeks beholding someone I barely remembered being.

I still have depressed days when all is gray, pointless, and brooding,

wondering if I'm strong enough to ride out a storm, however brief.

Of all the advice I've read or paid to have imparted: "This too shall pass,"

is wisest, the lifesaver. As Scarlett would say, "Tomorrow is another day."

If a week before

you are to wed, your bethrothed

catches ebola...

If the day of your

nuptials, your wife is burned and

badly disfigured...

If the month after

you marry, your spouse falls and

ends up wheelchair bound...

If a year after

you take your husband's name, you

learn he's schizophrenic...

If your seventeenth

anniversary marks your

nineteenth cancer treatment...

Will you stay or go?

That is all you need to know

of death till us do part.

Ace hefted a brick through the Starbucks window with a guttural yawp. "Down with corpocracy!" Adolescent anarchists around him slapped him on the back and hooted their solidarity and approval.

Four months later, Ace was hella thirsty and tired of waiting for his friend to get off work so he could bum a ride. The only place open within walking distance was that perverse purveyor of premium percolated drinks.

He'd wisely worn a ski mask that night so he couldn't be identified on Big Coffee's security video. Sheepishly, Ace walked through the front door, checking quickly and irrationally to see if any trace of glass remained sparkling on the sidewalk.

When the barista asked his name, he defiantly said, "Anarchy." He got the steaming beverage, and the cup had "Anne" scribbled on it with a smiley face. Damn them and their delicious Caramel Brulee Latte!

Autumn brims with it:

every pumpkin

and tiger lily.

It wafts on monarch wings,

rustles amid fallen leaves,

and writhes in bonfires.

Warmth extracted.

Last gasp of summer

till only muted sun remains

in a frigid wintry sky.

We huddle up to Yule logs

and space heaters,

clinging to the Solstice promise,

yearning for a glimpse

of narcissus stamen

while mourning marigolds.

I never thought I’d learn to...tie my shoes, write cursive, distinguish clouds, swim, divide fractions, ratttle off historical dates, dance, balance a chemical equation, French kiss, drive, recite the prologue to the Canterbury Tales, type, conjugate Latin verbs, etc. I still can’t balance a checkbook, change a tire, or figure out how to get along with everyone. But I never thought I’d do a thousand things I’ve done. So onward.