You are the byproduct of your great great great and maybe
even greater grandparents’ first kiss. In the equation of history
you are the long-awaited answer. You transcend all laws
of mathematics. Their history bent you into existence.
Consider it for a moment. You are only here because
one man saw, from across a train platform or mossy field
or crowded ballroom, a strange beauty with a flicker
lodged in her eye. Don’t mind if I catch it, he told himself,
and he did. The possibility of you— conceived in the rash decision
of a moment. Now you have her eyes, same unusual twinkle,
the fruit of the great pursuit. Yes, you were born before your mother
dedicated your body to earth. You were born, instead, in the instant
of the first chase, the swift clutch of a hand, the rush of blood to the face.
Think. If not for the speeding train. The field. The ballroom and the girl,
still a stranger, the mumbled-under-breath Don’t mind if I catch it.
Then— the universe caught you. Forever the echo.
Forever the beginning, you have always been.