30

and i'm leaving the darkness
like a fin
flying south for the winter.

mothering myself,
warmed in a cast iron skillet.
but even the south can't hold me
not at 30.
my right heel rooted.
my left toes,
just tickling the hot earth,
kicking up dust balls
held together with cat hair
and 600 days.

but my left is pulling
my right,
moving on
and packing light
for a very long stay.
a torrent of tears
easing the way.

i stopped running,
and found my stillness moving forward.
i lifted my chin,
and felt my face fall.
i exfoliated
and found a child's sadness
sloughed to the floor
all around me
at 30.