Dear Life

I can’t undo all I have done unto myself,

what I have let an appetite for love do to me.

I have wanted all the world, its beauties

and its injuries; some days,

I think that is punishment enough.

Often, I received more than I’d asked,

which is how this works—you fish in open water

ready to be wounded on what you reel in.

Throwing it back was a nightmare.

Throwing it back and seeing my own face

as it disappeared into the dark water.

Catching my tongue suddenly on metal,

spitting the hook into my open palm.

Dear life: I feel that hook today most keenly.

Would you loosen the line—you’ll listen

if   I ask you,

if   you are the sort of  life I think you are.