Would I Come Back

I cannot decide.
Would I come back
as an elusive mushroom,
living underground, in
happy connection to
the dark mycelium web,
only out to play hide-and-seek
once a year? Would I want to live
a more stubborn, determined,
opportunistic life of dandelion,
or the plucky life of mandolin?
To be the smooth touch, the nodding
comfort of a mahogany rocking
chair, already a bit close to who
I am now, but without the stress
or resentment of being sat upon or
used for firewood if conditions
necessitate. I cannot
decide. This future imagining
is more than I have the imaginal
cells for and lacking a blueprint for
another incarnation, the very brief
timeline in the greater scope of
things, I’d settle on a brighter,
quick-silver, generous, clever
version of the human being
I’ve been and hope the chance
will come around to give the whole thing
another go.