I am sage burned at a religious ceremony. I am
offering myself up to you. I am the bird by your
window in the morning, the sputtering moth on
the wall at night. I am nothing more than a young
girl of seventeen. I am nothing anymore but what
I want truly to be. I am the greatest and only love
of yours. I am dying every day growing more and
more corroded. I am growing more each day. I am
relying on you to water me, to prune my leaves and
mind your step. I am bleeding below but you finger
me, deeply anyway, reaching down inside, digging a
hole to plant your seeds, watering daily. I am hoping
to move to Japan and teach English, but now I am
thinking of you so much of the time. I am growing
anxious each day, feeling guilty for my insecurities.
I am thinking I am ugly and useless and unlovable.
I am loathing the self who thinks it. I am glad you
disagree. I am planning on keeping these emotions
inside, burying them deep beneath dirt layers until
they are detritus. I am using all of the nutrients for
this task we’ve undertaken. I am sage covering the
mountains. I am bird weaving the trees. I am rich
soil, deep inside the earth.