Matter

Grind the dust;
They don’t float anymore–
It’s alright.

a warm sunday afternoon

the rushing of steps,
the closing of a door,
the buzz of the refrigerator,
the low humming of a car engine,
the inaudible hiss of a breath,
the silent shoring of dust on my arms
on the arms of my suntanned chair.

they are waiting, for me;
but i am home,
you see?

eel!

i tremble
tremble with
the knowledge
that comes with
the potential.

i tremble
tremble before
the fear causing
me to bear
the unkept promises.

i tremble
tremble under
the weight
of the sin,
the sin of
being nothing.

i tremble
tremble and tremble
to the shivering light
of the winter sun
telling me
it is not over.

personification

i am getting familiar with my smile
encouraging me
to fly