A hundred per cent

I would like

a century

a tree

grows slow

a crack

of light

hits my palm

while I’m

reading

I grab

to take

a picture

& the crack

is gone

branches

pouring

out of my

hands

days has made

its mark

I have

wind

swept

hair I think

of my step

brother

who I knew

more

like this

his face

a photo

graph

on a beach

on a

book &

when he died

I was

family

watching

a tree in

the wind

& I wanted

to speak

to him

who was

truly my

brother

that speck

of light is gone

on my

hand and

him. I told

her I’d probably

like to

end here

like my com

puters

do & my

dog did. I took

a chance

w horrifying

her. I’m

shooting

for this

love where

I live. See

me dying

now or running

across

the beach

to catch

the tree

book

cover in the end

of summer’s

wind. The ocean

is a feast

& it’s here

I bring my

water tree book

feet, taste

branches

the lot that

is me

who wants

a century.

More Poems by Eileen Myles