I cannot face the seasons
of my growing
that swam
like silver fish
beyond the reach
of hook and lure
unsure of where the river
meant to go
I cannot face the places
of my growing
hazy splendid streets
that smelled like home
sun-minted mornings
naked nights
viewed through city windows
wilted by weather
tamed by time
I cannot face the substance
of the things that I have lost
I cannot bear to add the days
one by one
and total up the cost
– Susan A. Katz (From the book “On the Edge” – all rights reserved)