Graduation Day
After a year of tears,
not from kitchen prep work,
but from weekly PTSD therapy,
where an onion of another
sort was peeled,
I asked if I would get a gold star.
She said,
no, you get more homework.
For how long, I asked,
already knowing the answer
to be for the rest of my life.
Knowing it to be
a life sentence,
we still called it
graduation day.
Time to stand up straight,
shoulders back,
treat myself like someone
I am responsible for helping,
always tell the truth,
(or at least don’t lie),
and live my life
with incisive simplicity
and tart common sense.
Oh, and when I encounter
a dog or cat anywhere,
pet it.
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