I wonder what will be
The screenplay of life and me

Lowly on the bed of death alone
What cinematography will take me home?

Shall I see a gurney with cold, cold wheels
At the malleable age of three?
A lonely walk home from middle school
After they told me who to be?
Teenage pain and dreams down the drain
While I tried just to make sense of myself
Maybe I'll see a college freshman
Dressed head to toe like her music hero--
A floating feather in sleek black leather
The day no one could steal her show
Perhaps I'll see a job or two--the first I ever knew?

Shimmering inspiration,
Discontinued education,
The vocabulary by which I lived
A vast vinyl collection,
A worn-down reflection,
Twenty-something introspection
A novel I read, a novel I wrote,
My favorite vocal inflection

A young woman in driver's seat
Windows down, hair billowing 'round
On a spotless summer evening
The man she loved, the friends she cherished,
Though far and few between
Adults shouting down a little girl
At the junction of anxiety, depression, and self-hate
A fruitless quest for comfort into the hours of late
A day at Disneyland, a decade of being a fan
My thirtieth birthday, a bygone heyday
A free Slurpee from 7-11
The nights I wrote this poem at an earnest twenty-seven

A lifetime of hard knocks, headaches, and heartbreak
Of lust and wonder, love and laughter
A million questions
And three hundred thousand answers
To take to the great beyond

As my feature ends and the curtains droop
Upon the knowing bed of death alone,
Whether worst fears or greatest passions,
What cinematography will come to take me home?

Lord knows I wonder what will be
The final screenplay of life and me.

© Jaz Rogers