What do they say about you
when you’re not in the room?
What will they say when they put your body in the ground?
What will they think, but never say aloud
even when you’re gone?
What are the first ten adjectives that come to mind?
Whisper an anecdote that is the story of how you moved through the world.
In whose ear did you whisper?
Who reaches for a memory of you, to inspire them
to be brave enough
to get through another night?
And who has etched your words in their heart
on a caution sign?
How wide is your ambition?
What do you feed it? And how –
with silver spoons or sticky fingers?
Who taught you to prepare the meal? Where and when and
how well did you learn?
How loud must the applause be for you to be satisfied?
How long must it echo to make it worth what it cost you?
A year? A decade? A century?
How far can you fall? And, be honest now:
how will you possibly