photo by Hillary Watts

I am not the man I was a minute ago
I’m not the man you think I am
I’m not the man.
I might not be
A man at all
I might not be your mother
You mother’s mother
Who might not be the man
I may have never been.

She may have been a big beautiful
Pink sky
Who opened up one day
Above a high school that
Looked like a penetentary

She may have been a dark cloud
Moving along a powerful wind
That blew a baby bird from it’s nest
Leaving it to perish on an empty sidewalk

Maybe that bird was just a thought
That formed into a question.
A question about hair…
How do I look in these jeans?
What time is it?
I can’t hear you.
Are you going to say you’re sorry?

Hearing your own voice.
Sounds like someone…