I haven’t spilled my guts on the sidewalk
or keyed poems into mirrors.
no one asks what I’m learning anymore,
which is good, because I would lie.
(newborn horse hooves, the ocean's doldrums,
scratched cd liner notes, New York City housing project gardens,
Taylor Swift, punctuation, how to hold a pen,
the starlings that come to my windowsill and leave
without telling me anything, how to wait
without being chosen.
this is what I'm learning.
nobody asked. I wouldn’t know how to explain
my new eyes.
my militia-mouth.
even if they did.)
winter drags and I'm breaking in boots again.
I’m getting closer to a window
and I might be smiling.