I feel my humanity
daily, almost hourly, even minute by minute. My body creaks
as I rise early in the morning. I feel my aging like the tick-tick-tick of an old clock. Telling me
I’m late, up too late
even though I’m up early.
The constant, frequent flurry of life makes it impossible to breathe sometimes.
I want deep, cavernous honest breaths and to appreciate being alive.
I snap at my child moments after I read about controlling
your tongue. I cannot believe
myself sometimes. My weak-kneed lack
God is strong, even
when I am weak. I want to be more, like
God. I keep wanting,
knowingly eager that this
inhalation and desire