Postscript

I'll drink the red wine
To its bitter dregs
Because I like red wine.

The cat purrs when he's happy
The baby cries when he's sad
What more explanation do you need?

The waves are bitchin
The sun is warm
Get out on your board and ride.

Butterfly

After two bad quarters
The board turned on me.
And when the Chinese factory burned down
They said I had to go.

I pointed the Boxter north on PCH,
Put down the top, and drove fast.
120 through the eucalyptus groves
Does wonders to clear your head.
"Ungrateful bastards.
I built this company from nothing.
Without me you have nothing.
You hear me, nothing!"

T-boned in an intersection
By a careless Suburban
On any other day
Would have been the end.
But charmed was today, and I walked away.
Walked out of myself and into the woods
Till I met a group of people that lived in the trees
On platforms in the redwoods, high in the air.
They dropped a ladder to me, and I ascended their aerie.
I told them my story and Butterfly said to me:

Be silent, and listen.
Hear the sound of the wind.
Hear the sound of the wind blowing
Through the leaves on our tree.

What Is Today?

December 8th, 1980
November 7th, 1991
April 5th, 1994
November 7th, 2000
September 11th, 2001
October 27, 2004
January 20th, 2009

October 10th, 2000
We went to the hospital
First thing in the morning
We were assigned to a room
And the monitors attached
Started the pitocin
In early afternoon.
After eight hours
Of hard labor
A delayed epidural
And a botched episiotomy
A child was born
A happy few hours
Of joy and relief.
He was taken away
To be observed in the NICU
And a bit after than
The hemorrhaging began.

So what is today?
A day that we all remember together?
A day that you will remember alone?
Or a day, just a day, like any other.

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."