We who fear our smallness grow a little
smaller, cut and filed to fit the keyhole
in the mirror, to roll our spines into a ball.
My cat gets it, as does the mouse curled
inside him, or the many who surrender
their power to the crowd, the thousand torches
one revenant of light. One fire, one Führer.
The more abhorrence spreads the less it touches.
Once, I was too tiny for my body
and so pulled myself toward some center
I never found. What I believe, I see.
Death is nothing really. It’s everywhere.
In time I grew taller than my father
by an inch. When he died, he grew another.about the author