I don’t want to die today.
There are so many other things to do.
To stretch my arm across the living-room table,
wrap my hand around a mug of coffee,
and drink the bitterness in.
Maybe I should walk through January’s grey stew,
all the way to the zoo,
to watch the animals
safe behind iron bars, watching me back.
To stand there and meet their eyes,
to dream of changing places with them,
and let my body fill
with a cry of longing.
