Biography
       

I don't remember much. A feeling of pressure.
Then someone took the cover off.
But it wasn't happily ever after; more like the ocean,
flat and smooth until you can't stand it, then...
regrets. I get sick a lot. I was born
in Cleveland, stuck a hairpin in an outlet.
So many ways to be disqualified.
My daughter rolls her eyes at me and I wonder
where she went, if she'll come back—this,
after working furiously not to be needed.
Even so, I'm starting to like the way life
tosses you around, though it goes
against my true nature. My true nature
is to sit in the shade. watch the birds
at their business and envy them, but not enough
to think I can fly. Not enough to fly.
Once there was a girl who lost her way home;
she knocked on no one's door.
My true nature is to feel uncomfortable, worry
I've said too much. But I won't
take it back. That's why I'm still standing
here, half in the light.

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Copyright © 2012 Amy Dryansky All rights reserved
from Harvard Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission