2333

My story grows frayed and worn,
abused by tellings both ragged and rough;
performances long, or not long enough.
It's hard to force a story
not to grow with the telling,
not to polish the rough spots,
or putty the gaps and scratches.

What the ego relishes,
memory embellishes.

There is something endearing
about tales of troubles endured,
and welcoming, about coming home.

But that was long ago.

Today I celebrate 2333 days of life.
Though others note years gone past,
and some count months and seasons,
I measure by day.
I live moment to moment, counting seconds
as I marvel at my flickering flame,
and dream in the stillness of the wind.

Mick McKellar
July 2017

July 12, 2017 is 2333 days since my transplant. I liked the number, so I stopped and let the wonder of days settle on my spirit.

Mick