The clouds are changing with the leaves,
punching new shape and color in the sky
and death is beautifully unfolding with grace.
That October a hurricane killed electricity
and brought us together at the crossroads of our living.
You found me surviving,
I found you dying.
Chewing oxygen and steroids
we drank coffee and danced a heartbreaking waltz.
You wrapped your hands around my wrists and whispered:
“leave, you are strong enough to leave.”
Your words echoed for two long years
while my courage cooked slow and narrow in tiny corners.
Mother, where is the Rottweiler you watched me raise?
My mouth can’t form her name without the taste of vomit.
Leaving has left my heart dirty,
but staying made my soul stiff.
I hate rules and rigidity that weaken my handshake.
When you leapt, did you feel the same?
Monarchs in milkweed stir an Autumn fever
and I ache to migrate beyond my current self.
