Dear,
I regret to inform you that I woke up in my childhood bed today, the one whose boxspring I broke digging into soil, calling the hole self-sufficiency, self-defense, home
I regret to inform you that I won’t be returning to the other decorated with lilies, popcorn streamers, and ermine feet for fugitives, visitors, and lovers I will make due with this perforated bed
I’ve exhausted luster, rubbed glitter on my chest, fractured mirrors, played alive instead of dead, plugged my ears with withered roses, and turned crosses into stars with too many ends
I’ve hollowed the other too, ruined decor with an instinct to climb. Here, I’ve mourned the same hands but with no soot to eat or flood to swallow whole; there’s nowhere to mark my place, unlike the one in velvety loam with “CONDEMNED TO NOTHING” rancorously inscribed in one stroke
I retire my suitcase, collapsed by stones packed to fly East Now West-bound for the last time, it's bloated with masks and their unforgiving bands, lined paper, melting hail, poetry books for snobs, and bone-dry intent.
Forgive me for craving hibernation, but soon, I’ll be shooting down root and witnessing all wind from below
Goodbye, disquiet, auspice, inauguration I chose a wretched place: a palace lacking a letter, with some dirt for good measure
With solemn regard,