gunmetal cover and frustrations

Bracing myself for the growing cloud cover,
Bracing myself for the bracing wind.
Bracing myself for the fact that if I get a tattoo,
      or shave half my head,
My mother will never see me in her house again.

Planting myself in the bark chips,
Planting me next to the tree.
Planting my feet,
      where my roots can grow deep,
      but should travel be imminent,
they can be uprooted easily.

How could you handle me, dancer?
How could you hold me somehow?
How could you tell yourself
      that you're not sorry,
      that you were completely
      honest, trustworthy?
How could you handle me, now?

Dying right next to the counter,
Decomposing up at the front end.
Wilting under those fluorescent bulbs,
      dying and wilting,
      smiling and savant,
      God, are you really--
      are you really complaining?
It might not hurt much to be dead.

Preparing for rainier cities,
Anticipating the songs.
Preparing for faces,
      more overcast places,
      drinks, worthy of
      your baritone mumblings,
      a city with autumn
      closer on its heels
Temporarily righting all my wrongs.

Lay me at my ground level.
Lay me where I won't lie.
Set me down by the tree
      that encompasses the whole view
      from my childhood bedroom window
      under the juvenile carvings
      where there were happy fools, once.
      Once, and only once,
      don't you dare miss this once,
Lay me down here to die.

-Dana Winter