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Dear Life
I.
I still have so much to learn from the pear tree.
II.
I am a scavenger.
I keep picking
at the remains
of childhood.
Longing can rot,
I’ve learned,
like flesh.
III.
My father is a burnt map
unfurling.
My fingers
trace the outline
of the country
of Regret.
IV.
I am not happy
living like an anchor,
or a stone.
I want to be weightless,
or, more accurately:
I want to be carried.
V.
I am selfish. I need more time.
Let past pain remain
in the past. What am I doing here,
filled with blood, and organs,
and so much dread?
VI.
There are so many futures
I cannot see—like colors
outside of the spectrum,
or planets in other galaxies.
Failure is the most human thing.
VII.
I still have so much to take.
From the pear tree, I take
an unripe pear.
Even more to give.
To the pear tree, I give back
a single fallen leaf.