Dear poem — reluctant bitter poem
of the pock-marked face: you,
the one who will utter the undeclared IT —
I am waiting.
I pledge welcome
no matter your message
— though you shame me,
though you fail me, even though
you hide yourself for decades — deep
within the dun canopic vessel of regret.
I am waiting to reveal myself — brave,
- – - – - – - – - -Squaw Valley Review, 2003