Bravo
Dick Allen
For how you’ve lived this long. Bravo
because the trees around your house have not yet fallen
and the sun’s running the sky. Bravo, Bravo
that you’ve remembered to put the key in upside down
so the door opens,
that the first word you said this morning was “Good.”
That you clink bottles together just to hear the “clink.”
That someone screwed your head on wrong.
Bravo. Bravisimo,
that you’re still walking
and your hands do more than you’d expect,
that birdsongs sound crazy, like tying bubbles in knots,
Bravo for ye gods and little fishes,
turns in the road and the signs that mark these turns,
spumoni, African violets, Apple computers,
and bravo, bravo, bravo,
the lifting of the curtain and your solo voice on stage,
your shout, your cry,
Ave Maria. Ave, ave dominus, Dominus tecum,
this incredible journey you took and still are taking,
that the universe is not an empty dodecahedron,
for all that befalls us: rain, snow, spiders, moonlight. . .
and for rice pudding, Bravo.
