Ode to the Hour Before the Party

Praise the hour before, when nothing has gone wrong.The chairs still trust each other in their rows.The ice is winning. The playlist is a promiseno song has yet had time to break.

Praise the bowl of something, and the other bowl,and the doorbell that has not rung, and the youof an hour from now, laughing at somethingyou cannot yet imagine, with a personwho is, right now, on a train, becomingthe best part of your night without your knowing.

Praise the not-yet. Praise the still-could-be.Praise the small held breath of the tidy roombefore the beautiful ruin of the evening,the spilled, the shouted-over, the too-loud, the real.Praise the hour that only exists as almost.I have loved almost more than I have loved arrival.Praise it. Then open the door. Let it end.