I left and
drifted, being
nowhere,
practicing a detachment from
small golden moments
and a quiet
spirit, seeking nothing
There was movement
in me once,
like a breath in the darkness
(imagine being
sustained—nourished, even—
by one breath
against
a lifetime underwater)
but you can’t wait
your whole life
for an exhale,
you can’t spend
your whole life
waiting for god to kiss you back
(at some point
a person has to decide
that they are finally done with drinking
poison
and that maybe they’d like to
try wine
for real
one of these days)
Anne Mild writes about desire, choice, abandonment, and connection. She is a good cook, a poor baker, and an inconsistent journal-keeper. You can win her undying love with bubble tea or a dog.