The Choice

What if everything was perfect

The cold toast in the morning 

and the butter hard in the dish

Your side of the bed empty again

and me unable to unriddle the riddle

What if the ache was meant to be there

the bird flew into the window on purpose

fell in love with the glass and 

was willing to risk it all

What if the callous on my foot 

was carefully crafted to 

give me that slight limp

which would allow you to recognize me

for who I am

from any distance.

~Susan Palmer