Some Days

I want to lay myself down,

like the simple object

of a transitive verb.

I want to have picked

myself up, only to have

laid myself down.

Both mind and body.

While the rest of me —

goes with the wind

touching the leaves.

Tethered, green,

and free.

Avoiding 18 Year Olds

I cross the street when I see a college student.

I have a hard time with youth,

even though I still have one hand caught

in their experiences. In cafes, on the bus,

I carry earplugs. Their dreams,

their talk about first entering work

make static in my chest. There is

not enough room for their disappointments

or their enthusiasms in my many-self

I have grown within me.