When roads converge

 

I woke up in the middle of the night

with magic meandering in my mind.

I got up to make a few notes on a pad.

It was closer to three, actually,

when I finally turned out the light

and slipped back into bed.

It was still warm, but just barely.

Then before seven I awoke.

The unfinished business was tugging.

I put on my slippers and my hoodie.

To the computer I nearly stumbled,

I rubbed my eyes while it booted

and considered again the magic

that turned the girl next door

into the young woman posting photos

from Morocco.

It wasn’t that much of a poem,

but I sent it across the internet anyway,

in the hopes that she would be reminded

that her life was magical to more than just herself.

Then I turned to matters quite urgent,

the fate of the planet hung spinning in the balance,

I resolved what I could and then returned,

to a little light housekeeping.

My desktop had gotten cluttered –

I moved digital files into digital folders.

I created more digital folders for more digital files.

And then I came on the digital name of a young woman,

a student and a barista that I knew.

I had forgotten what I had put into those bytes of space

and when I opened it up I was surprised,

that I had written something more readable

than some of the nonsense I sometimes write.

So I polished it up.

It had taken a bit of careful thought,

and when I finished, my mind was spilling over.

I got up from my chair

and began pacing the floor,

which makes my wife nervous.

She was preparing to leave for her class.

As I packed her a lunch,

I realized that I could do two things at once,

I could carry her books and walk her to school.

I tossed aside my slippers and slipped on my sneakers,

I snuck my pants on over my long johns

and threw on a scarf.

We stepped out the front door together.

The air was cold, even biting.

The 14^th Street hill as steep as ever.

But in time we were resting on top.

She had to go to her class.

We kissed, her glasses were fogged.

She walked off to the right

and I decided to go left.

I wandered through Fraser to get a drink of water.

Then rather than pushing out the back door to home,

I turned through the front doors instead.

The students were hurrying to class.

I was more interested in what they were doing,

than some of them were interested in themselves,

perhaps. They may never have seen me at all.

When I reached the library I had another decision to make,

one in the billion choices I will have in my time.

Would I walk straight ahead,

or turn towards the street?

And here’s the moment where I tell you I believe

in coincidences – I swear that they happen.

I was half-way to the street,

when what to my decluttering mind should appear

but the girl with the digital name.

I had stamped the envelope for a paper post

minutes before stepping out my front door.

I could have handed to her very hand my note.

She was riding her bike and smiling

into my eyes and she raised

her hand and we slapped mittens as she passed.

I hoped she read her name on my lips,

but our eyes read each others’ quite clearly.

I know you.

But this is not the coincidence that I believe in,

this was but a lucky chance.

The wondrous thing was that me and she –

and so many more than she - met at all.

It was all more than a billion to one against.

And more astronomical still

that me and thee should find something

in the other that we like.

We are passing each other in time so quickly,

that we should happen to care at all for each other

is nothing less than magic.

I can only be the poet I am

and the story you can believe if you wish.

I will borrow the words of another,

it’s surely a coincidence that his name was Frost.

Two sidewalks diverged by the library,

I took the one toward the street,

the young woman’s mitten was Kyra’s,

and her eyes made all of the difference.