Hello, My Name is Poem

Phlox, photo — my own

I am the soldier on a rusty battlefield,
Refusing to retreat or acknowledge the last bullet
Before angels come
To claim me

I am the shy girl in 2nd grade
Whose arm shot up, because
Questions burned deeper
Than disquieting fears

I am forgotten closets, reorganized;
Yankings out of unneededs, shovings in
Of a few small luxuries,
Between us

I am the milk placed in the cupboard,
The dropped glass, the appointment, missed
Because
I wouldn’t let you leave me

I am the moth, speckled on your window
Who’s been here since 9 a.m.,
And you’re more interested
In what I haven’t said yet

I am that itch on your back, always
Behind your heart, requiring
A third arm to satiate
Your over-excitement

I am fucking you on a bright afternoon
Because we can, and our needs
Are far more pressing
Than an impatient dog’s whining