The Point of it Being
by Sara Pirkle
Art by Alexey Adonin
That I waited out a storm on a cool stone under a wooden bridge one afternoon in Minnesota,
rain sparkling on the rushing stream like stars.
That I slow-danced with Gerald Stern at a dinner party,
and when he said goodbye,
the old poet’s fingers cradled my ear.
That I sipped ginger ale while chemo poisoned every cell.
That I came to in my twin sister’s bed
and forgot to fear my dying.
Tell me what else matters.