HERE I AM

Here I am making my grand tour

The summer after graduation.

Where is this? Must be the Rome train station.

We barely noticed we were poor.

Backpacks and low-rise jeans;

We never lived beyond our means.

(Back then there were no ATMs.)

Here we are,

My friends and me,

Napping on a bank of the Thames.

And that was free.

Here I am with that girl I met

On the bus to Brussels or Bruges.

(My God, her duffel bag is huge!)

What was her name? Yvonne? Yvette?

She ditched me; I’m forgetting why.

Oh yeah—when I slept with that Swedish guy.

His sleeping bag was full of fleas.

Here we are,

With our bread and cheese,

On a park bench in the Tuileries,

When love was free.

Here I am,

A woman in the middle

Of her life,

And her life

Is an endless riddle.

In all of Europe

I couldn’t stir up

A memory more un-

Likely and foreign

Than me at twenty-two.

I can’t help gazing

At her bright young eyes,

At her nice firm thighs.

Was I ever twenty-two?

Look at her skin, it’s amazing.

Can you be me? Am I you?

Here I am at the Berlin Wall.

They tore it down, but it’s still there

In this picture, like my long dark hair.

But there’s a wall between her and me

That, like me, won’t be getting thinner.

Here we are,

Myself and me,

Thinking, “Ich bin ein Berliner,”

But who is free?

Here I am,

Looking at this kernel

Of myself,

And I feel

So strangely maternal.

Do I have a choice?

I can’t believe I’m hearing

My very own voice

Giving her advice:

Did you pack your passport?

Hide your traveler’s checks?

Don’t talk to men

They only want sex!

Make a ladylike appearance

And when was the last time you sent

A postcard to your parents?

Here it is.

Here’s my postcard to me.

I’ve become my own mother.

Never though I'd be…

But here I am...

Here I am.