Another Wonderful Poem by the Same Poet as Yesterday

Why I'm Here

Because my mother was on a date

with a man in the band, and my father,

thinking she was alone, asked her to dance.

And because, years earlier, my father

dug a foxhole but his buddy

sick with the flu, asked him for it, so he dug

another for himself. In the night

the first hole was shelled.

I'm here because my mother was twenty-seven

and in the '50s that was old to still be single.

And because my father wouldn't work on weapons,

though he was an atomic engineer.

My mother, having gone to Berkeley, liked that.

My father liked that she didn't eat like a bird

when he took her to the best restaurant in L.A.

The rest of the reasons are long gone.

One decides to get dressed, go out, though she'd rather

stay home, but no, melancholy must be battled through,

so the skirt, the cinched belt, the shoes, and a life is changed.

I'm here because Jews were hated

so my grandparents left their villages,

came to America, married one who could cook,

one whose brother had a business,

married longing and disappointment

and secured in this way the future.

It's good to treasure the gift, but good

to see that it wasn't really meant for you.

The feeling that it couldn't have been otherwise

is just a feeling. My family

around the patio table in July.

I've taken over the barbequing

that used to be my father's job, ask him

how many coals, though I know how many.

We've been gathering here for years,

so I believe we will go on forever.

It's right to praise the random,

the tiny god of probability that brought us here,

to praise not meaning, but feeling, the still-warm

sky at dusk, the light that lingers and the night

that when it comes is gentle.

by Jacqueline Berger
from The Gift That Arrives Broken.
© Autumn House Press, 2010.