people ask why they shouldn’t commit suicide;
they want a reason
but they secretly think no reason will be found
or no reason ever found will suffice.
well i wish i could tell them,
choose life.
choose the first date, the first kiss,
the first time.
choose the late nights and cigarettes smoked
on rooftops,
the hands held and the good grades and the bad ones
and the mistakes made and learned from.
choose the thunderstorms and rainy days,
the perfect cloudless ones and the dry heat.
choose the sweat after a run,
the long conversations, the telephone calls,
the poems, the love letters scrawled on napkins.
choose your parents, your brothers, your sisters,
your friends. your family.
choose the wedding and the walk down the aisle,
college and taxes and bills and walks with the dog.
music and barbecues and good books
and old films, saying nothing with the lips
but everything with the eyes.
choose the smiles and the long nights,
the wine and getting drunk.
choose the drives alone,
the dark parking lots, the coffee in the mornings.
choose your daughter, your son,
their first kiss, their first date, their college,
their wedding. choose your grandchildren.
choose old age with the one you love,
the gardens and summer nights, dictionaries
and blue ink. choose the hospital visits
and tears and hard times,
the aches and pains and arthritis.
choose the yellow walls and comfy chairs.
choose the love and loss
and learn from them both,
and then accept death with open arms
when it comes for you,
not when you come for it.
choose the beginning of your life,
then choose the rest of it.