i never understood,
until now,
the appeal of
dying old.
on a porch swing,
dog at my lap
brew to my right.

it seemed so
useless to me.
until i saw
the sun set
a second time.
i never catch
a first glance.
i grow fond
for a second look.

i am so tired
of the hawks
that are bound
to my chest with
wire pulling my
baby skin away
from me. i am
too scared to
let them leave
my sight.

i have kept
fright inside for
too long. i
thought i had
something to lose
but that already
left too.

all the
good things
in life have
somewhere to be

and i am
in my childhood
bedroom weaning
off the milk.
writing poems
for no one.
for myself.