Juliet(I) by Sarah Certa

            
            I quit smoking six times in the last three months,
           
            but on the eighth day of spring I break down and have a cigarette,
           
            because meatloaf is scary and we might
           
            not make it to Paris after all.
           
            But how else could it be?
           
            Even if you lived forever
           
            still you wouldn’t live forever,
           
            which is reason enough
           
            to give God another chance,
           
            bruise my knees on the hardwood and
           
            leave love notes on the doorsteps of strangers,
           
            pressed between the pages
           
            of self-help books at the library: How to Cope
           
            with the Loss of a Child, How to Stop
           
            All the Hearts from Stopping.
           
            There are too many hands
           
            that still need holding and never
           
            enough flowers on the table.
           
            I need life to take a nap.
           
            Or at least let me finish my cigarette
           
            and feel spiritual for another five minutes.
           
            Oh the pretty sky! Oh my boy
           
            from the sunshine state. Sometimes I swear I’m real.