There was a need
to be weak and I met 
it. I appeared in the confusion
between strength and
surrender, as if out of nowhere,
that’s the illusion.
I was reared 
ruminating
in a thicket of 
sorrow with a beautiful
string of drool
hanging out the side of my
mother like a loose 
phosphorescent 
tether.
How will I know
what to do, I wondered.
No one does, my mouth said.
Don’t touch me. I want to stand,
for once, on the bed
and flip the switch on the fan
that reverses the direction of 
the blades myself
while the fan is moving.
It is a small switch, and I have a 
small hand from which an insignificant wind 
is swinging in
the other direction now. 
I feel like a girl in heaven,
but I am a beast in a clearing.
I passed out
as the wind picked up
and in the bay
as the tide 
came in, 
what a blow to mankind,
an automatic wind
to war, toward
war, untoward
toward war
took my breath 
away with it.