(after Climbing by Lucille Clifton)

Each morning I rise
hungry for the race
52 feels like 22 except
now I stretch
eat oatmeal
don’t drink myself 
into oblivion

I know that the end 
isn’t close
and it also isn’t far

along this rutted trail
I have wanted
oh, how I have wanted

resolution
peace
love falling deep
crashing like a waterfall

I have wanted more time

maybe I should have 
wanted less

​It wasn’t the black water
or the yawning hum,
not the solitude,
the floating questions 
I could not name.

It was the cattails, 
cinnamon bodies
long-limbed,
ceremonious
as if shelter depended 
upon nothing
but this open sky, 
sunshine slipping through
to rest awhile.

​When I was the forest, 
I thought I’d be young forever.
It was easy to undulate
when the breeze flirted by,
feeling lovely and large.
There is nothing more beautiful 
than green leaves in the spring
and I was drunk with power.

But all things end,
nothing is as it seems,
and now that I am a desert boulder,
rough and grayed with no softness inside,
I have nothing to hold onto
except this graffiti skin
and the bright sun in my eyes.

​Letting her go is impossible
Until I taste the truth of it
Holding her close
Like a dog chained in the back
Barking when the storms come
But not welcome in the house
Has given roots to this grief
I take what I love inside
Sugar sauce seeping down
In the warm kitchen

And I release her again