The most life-altering decisions are rarely made
with plenty of time and planning and foresight.
They do not arrive in advance written elegantly
on pressed, thick, clean paper
that you can nervously smooth your fingers over
as your heart and your mind slowly form consensus.

They arrive in their moment. Ugly. Raw. Unyielding.
They demand a response now, and they have a tendency
to get their responses when they want them.
Is this the thing you’ll quit your job over?
Did he want to be kept alive on a machine?
Should you swerve right or accelerate into the impact?

But sometimes they are quiet, too.
Sometimes they sneak up on you barefooted
in the middle of the afternoon in pajama pants.
Is this the age where it is important to learn to share?
Should you tell her you think the miniskirt is too short?
Does he think you favor his brother over him?

There are no easy answers, which is just as well,
because if there were simple, knowable answers,
there would be no point in making those decisions,
and you’d have no business making them anyway.