dear mud
dear glob of dirt,
make me inert & free,
make me as pretty as the mud
merging with the sea,
dear The Listening Part of the Sky,
make me as hollow as you
& never ask me why,
dear The Dying Time,
won’t you make me rhyme
like the sea & sky at dusk,
& sincerely, must we rush
when nothing can be done at all?
dear lump of mud,
mold me into one
who can rust or bust in half,
but don’t ask me what it means
to become instead of be,
don’t ask me what it means
to want to be incomplete.
Mathew Yates (they/them) is a disabled poet & artist from Paducah, Kentucky with roots in Mississippi & Appalachia. Their poetry & art can be found in Protean Mag, Ghost City Review, Screen Door Review, Malarkey Books, & more (@m_yates).