How the Worst Day of My Life Became the Best

Written By Andrea Gibson

1975 –2025


When I realized the storm

was inevitable, I made it

my medicine.


Took two snowflakes

on the tongue in the morning,

two snowflakes on the tongue

by noon.


There were no side effects.

Only sound effects. Reverb

added to my lifespan,

an echo that asked—


What part of your life’s record is skipping?

What wound is on repeat?

Have you done everything you can

to break out of that groove?


By nighttime, I was intimate

with the difference

between tying my laces

and tuning the string section


of my shoes, made a symphony of walking

away from everything that did not

want my life to sing.




Felt a love for myself so consistent

metronomes tried to copyright my heartbeat.


Finally understood I am the conductor

of my own life, and will be even after I die.

I, like the trees, will decide what I become:



Porch swing? Church pew?

An envelope that must be licked to be closed?

Kinky choice, but I didn’t close.



I opened and opened

until I could imagine that the pain

was the sensation of my spirit

not breaking,



that my mind was a parachute

that could always open

in time,


that I could wear my heart

on my sleeve and never grow

out of that shirt.


That every falling leaf is a tiny kite

with a string too small to see, held

by the part of me in charge

of making beauty

out of grief.




From You Better Be Lightning (Button Poetry, 2021) by Andrea Gibson. Copyright © 2021 Andrea Gibson. Reprinted by permission of the author.