Poems. Three. 

The slits of my eyes warm with pink light 
I think, “Now I’m not dreaming”
My first thought, laying in a stale bed
“Where to escape to”
My first hunger before my feet start to touch
wood, tile, cotton, rubber, gravel under rubber, smooth/flat, elevators
My transition ritual from sleep to wake
Is mostly this inner dialogue…

I am honored to receive this day
But in truth, I am scared to say no 
to ask for what I need
I know it’s rude to refuse power
And in truth, Im not scared for the repercussions
Only of losing you
That really makes me wonder
...When we will start growing from a new seed?
No more visits to the scrap heap

My job is just this now, 
every day, to share where I’m at
But the old way, the official papers
You can burn them
I’m not going back there
What a relief 

I am called to sketch the feeling
To explore the fleeting 
To note the soft/silent miracles 
To painstakingly tame my escape artist
Always escaping.

Hiding out in New York City,
I hid in school
I hid in you 
Waiting for the A Train, I set my coffee down for my phone
You told me to stop hiding
~A homeless lady walked away with my drink~
To come out and claim the things I wanted
~And all I could think was “how badly do you want it?”~

And what more could I ask for in a lover?
Honestly, you are everything.

Hope LittwinComment