Courtesy of Priscilla Du Preez/Unsplash.
I don’t want to wait till the moment of my dying
to realize what I have ignored all my life.
I want you to climb me. Climb me because I want you
to know the wounds on my body are not mere conjectures.
I don’t want to drink to my imagination before
understanding the dialects of living.
I don’t want to be stationed at the interpretative bridge to
realize that I have for a long time shot my shadow in the head.
I want the animals I feed awake, let them open
their eyes and mouths and experience with me;
let them experience with me these sins and science
and glories and goodness.
Every day is a new tale at dawn’s dusk.
The dawn’s dusk is a new tale to every day.
Whichever it is, I want my bed full.
I want my tea full. I want my desire full and satisfied.
and when I grow wrinkles, those creases and threads of fine markers,
I want them to be terrified of what I have done with my body;
I want them to recognize that I shamed the valleys that wanted to eat me.