The First Gift

Are you gifted?
I’m going to go out on a limb 
and answer for you.
Of course you are!
You’re here, right?

Not just here at this party—
a notorious hangout for troublemakers, 
both local and galactic—
but let’s just take an inventory of what 
you’ve accomplished to be there at all.

I think you’re hooked on being there 
and communicating, 
the two unforgivable crimes.
You’ve acquired a taste for these guilty pleasures.
Guilty as charged, and already 
serving your sentence, right?
Showing up at my party is a parole violation.
Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.

Our whole society is just a bit more outlaw
Than our rulers would like to admit.
Now, why was being there outlawed?
I don’t remember either, but here’s my guess:
Wherever you show up, 
you’re poaching on somebody’s turf.
And how did they acquire this turf exactly?
Did they build it or steal it?
There were scorched earth campaigns
Before there was earth to scorch!
Send those pesky natives back to native state!
What, they were here first?
Let’s see the chain of title!
Oh, you’ve got one? 
Let me wrap you up in it!

You know what the oldest profession is?
The scarcity business! 
You make sure nobody can make anything,
So they’ll either nobly go hungry
Or kill each other fighting over scraps.
Don’t they know we get richer by giving?

The first gift is the idea of a gift.
What a gift is, or might be.
How the great thinkers missed out on this
I’ll never know.

The second gift is acceptance.
Whatever a child comes up with,
you take it in. You gaze 
on it with wonder.
You say yes.

We all come into this life with gifts.
We spend time developing these gifts.
But chances are, we never give them.
Not professional enough, we say.
Not quite ready.

But when that gifted child comes along—
He’s one in ten thousand, we say.
Don’t let him sing for his supper
Unless it’s five-star.
But don’t lord it over the rest.

If I am gifted, who is the giver?
My fortune is only what I give.
I have to take that risk.
I have to find my “gifted zone”
Where everything I touch turns to gold
And I give it away for nothing.

Can you think of a gift 
that enriches the giver?
How about teaching?
Is there anyone more notoriously 
underpaid than a teacher?
That’s right, a poet.

So don’t pay me, whatever else you might do.
Resist the urge.
This is my gift.