you won’t know why.
Maybe waiting to tie
your shoelacesuntil everything else
is in place.
Could be you’ll slideyour egg yolks aside
eat every bit of bacon,
toast, whites while the forsakenyellow orbs stare at you
from the side pocket
of your empty plate.People will ask
why do you save
your yolks for lastand you won’t know—
won’t recall
the cousin from the southcame to visit one summer
ate his eggs so odd
your family saidstuck with you
like the way
you love to be kissedon the back of your neck
can vaguely recollect
your mother’s kissesafter your bath
too gentle for memory.
There will be things you doyou won’t know why
like the way you look
up at the skywhen anxious or blue
it’s what your father
used to doevery family trip
when nothing else
was rightexcept those clouds
moving north by northwest
through the nighthe showed you
what pilots knew:
factors for safe flyingare visibility
and how low
and mean the clouds are.
“There Will Be Things You Do” by Kim Dower from Last Train to the Missing Planet. © Red Hen Press, 2016.
From the Writer’s Almanac: http://writersalmanac.org/page/5/