in my decent skin, this is all i am

"in my decent skin, this is all i am"

i lift my eyes upward toward

the sky & inhale the bleakness

of middlewestern snow.

somehow my eyes get lost in

the flickers of white heaven scraps

that fall & melt on my hardened

pale skin.

one day, i tell her, i will be an old

man drinking coffee & reading the

news in an old wooden chair. i will

be as all old men, content until my

coffee becomes cold & my joints ache.

the flakes fall quicker now. her green

eyes staring into my grey eyes then

shifting to the door of her car. i know

what is implied though in truth i

resign myself to the facts of the matter:

i am young though i am not what i am.

the snow is pallorous but it does not carry

the light the way her skin carries the light.

tired, she climbs down into her car

& shuts the door, closing out the hiss of

snow & the chatter of voices from the outdoors.

she drives off. i rub my hands to generate warmth

i start to speak to myself but the sentences form

backwards & the words tumble down my throat

& crawl into the tips of my fingers.

the old man groans within me & tells me precisely

what i need to hear. it will snow all day long, he says,

so you'd better go indoors. but for now i am young

& i do not heed the warning.