Sometimes life makes you
pull back, retreat, halt
any forward progress.
I’ve been living my life hoping for
an end to the misery.
Family age and suffer
in distant parts, and we can do
nothing to help.
We grow plump
from lack of movement
and wither in our beings.
I used to trick people
into thinking that I may
have disappeared.
I would walk in the fresh snow
then step backwards
in my own footsteps.
Now my trick
is the real thing—
my footsteps in the snow
trudge forward, then stop.
If I were a hewn tree
you’d look at my rings
and see how weak I am
barely defined, barely separated.
The definition of life
is growth. Am I alive
if my growth has stopped?