Tracey Erin Finnerty

PASSING THE REGENTS

I want to be the fish that stares up at the white feet of Billy Collins walking across the Atlantic. Where is he going with his stuffed attache case and Holden Caulfield hat heavy with mist? The lighthouse beam swings around again for a glimpse. Ho! Our hero, like a good poem, has traveled a great distance to find you. Will you invite him in even though he is soaked, sure to leave a foggy halo on your dining room chair? Are you willing to stay up until the coffee burns, until the story of the dog you lost becomes clear? Probably not. You are young, know little of love and less of death. What can I do but teach you to pass the English Regents the first time around? Years from now, the night your mother dies, you will find the complimentary pen the barefoot stranger left and love yourself for the first time.

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