becoming

In not wanting to become a bear

I become a bear. All surrenders

are metamorphoses. All beneath

me is ice. This applies to the skin.

This applies to every sin that left

my mouth. Don’t trust everything

I tell you. I say that I want to kill

myself and I am still alive. I say

that I don’t have a mind enough

to consider me human. Consider

this: all surrenders are mutations.

An amputation of what was once

desired. I once desired a home.

And now I phantom-limb a home.

I have hands that speak faster

than my brain and a body that

doesn’t know where it belongs.

Consider the body. Consider

the bear. Consider how I am still

alive. Consider the ice that hangs

from car bumpers and has been

for two days. Remember that days

keep happening and they always will.

Even if they don’t happen to you.

In not wanting to speak I found

my voice. In not wanting to live

I discovered how to survive.