A mantra lodges itself in my head
"I don't know how long I can do this"
Building a platform or building a cage?
Wait, rewind, take it from the beginning.
I was in an ocean. The ocean of life itself
The ship named American Dream
Struck reality's sandbar and sank.
I had a choice: Wait with the ship
and cling to the flotsam
or dive out to open ocean.
I dove.
I dove and found myself in unfriendly European waters.
That's when I remembered the lagoon of my birth and made for it.
The lagoon, marginally less tempestuous than the sea,
received me and gave me a rotted log to cling to.
I gratefully clambered onto this log and rested.
The apparent safety of it like a blanket to a near-victim.
Now, from a drier, saner perspective, I look around me.
I look below me. This log, is this what I want?
Can I turn this log into a ship? Will she be seaworthy?
Or will I spend my life building it and never venture past the lagoon?
Second thing I notice is a rowboat. It is small but sturdy.
It will never be more than it is but with it I can already feel
the sea spray on my face. I can taste the ocean's beckoning call.
I want the rowboat, but will I regret that choice?
I give myself three months to wait and see.
If I swim for the rowboat, or start building a raft from this log.
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