Gasoline

I should not be surprised

That none of my hurry yields progress.

That working late leads to tossing in bed,

No reprieve after pushing too hard

In the first place.

It was not always like this.

I am the one who watched birds

From the bushes, who was so quiet

The creatures ventured out. I was the one

Who wrote longhand, and put the child to sleep.

Where is all that peace?

I call this eagerness for intimacy, “gasoline” -

But what are fossil fuels? An immediacy 

made over millennia, the cream of everything slow

And lived at life’s pace. Everything dead

And unwasted. I can burn up in seconds.

I can rebuild with a terrible patience. 

Now begins the long re-training, the painful 

Recovery of limbs; determined mobility

After every damning prognosis.

Someone knows I will not be purchased

As an ornament. Here is a lightning rod:

Never struck, never lied to. A nun in wolf’s 

Clothing.

--