I reject the comfort of my loving dogs
I reject the comfort of the flames in the fireplace
I reject the comfort of the bookshelf and the coatrack
and the spacious kitchen where I make our meals
tonight I am alone in the middle
looking out
I have said no to everything
that satisfies my needs
breaking down Maslow’s hierarchy
in the name of poetry
This is not about the 8-5 job
that puts food on the table
or the sparkling diamond on my finger
singing love and faith and good things
This is about the screaming sickness
infecting my fingers
my desire to unleash something ugly
on the neighborhood
that just might kill tidy shrubs
and ruin picket fences
I am opening the gate
into winter
where my thoughts are burning their bras
in rusted barrels
and the past is woven in with the present
and the sky is the future
but I’m not always looking up
I’m on my horse bareback
no shoes
no helmet
no fences
this year I’m not treading memories
we are fast
and I’ve got a destination in mind.
