If I Could Do It All Over Again

what if I had gone north instead of south; stood up tall instead of hunched; parted my hair in the middle instead of left; gone skydiving; learned to play the violin, speak Russian

what if I’d stayed put; hadn’t insisted on change, big change, exciting change; sold everything; packed up the car; set off with my cat
what if I hadn’t chosen Miami Beach; hadn’t loved it so; hadn’t felt my cells align; like a pound puppy, found my forever home

what if I hadn’t ridden the trolley, overflowing with people; gone on that date to the movies, tiny, crowded historic theater; returned again and again

what if I had kept my distance; stayed six feet away; spent all my days alone; what if staying six feet away had made the difference, had been the key

what if I’d known better; as if knowing better would have mattered, could have changed a thing; kept me safe; kept us all safe

what if I’d recovered; gone on about my business; flourishing, vigorous and thriving; all the stuff of living as before

what if the third doctor hadn’t known what was wrong with me; put a name to it; would I still be searching, wondering, worrying

what if I’d been healthier, stronger, weaker, younger, older

what if I could go back and do it all over again

Judith Shapiro spends half the year on the opposite coast, confused about which way is north and marveling at the sun that sets on the horizon instead of rising. When the novel she’s writing looks the other way, she secretly writes anything else. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her work appears in The Citron Review, The New York Times, The Sun and elsewhere. See more at PeaceInEveryLeaf.com.