3. Better to Lose
The day rumbles to life, shaking me,
and as another dream swamp recedes I
roll myself out of bed, clumsy bear leaving
its fetid den. Bleary, bumbling, still half
asleep, why do I care how much winter fat
I lug with me into the dusty bathroom? It’s
energy, after all. Better to fast and burn away
these last blurry years and their subvocal
anguish, like the distant whistling of
humpback whales. Better to lose the dull
absence of mind, hippopotamus afternoons
lost to the sagging couch,
trashy audiobooks, obsessive knitting, an old
ostrich building herself an eggless nest.
