Endings

At the birth of another year
we all wander out of the womb

with blood and an ache in the low back
where poison sits like venom

hands soothing with pressure
what must be cleaned

like a mirror cleaned with spit

Scrubbed with surrender
that only women know.
where this liquid retreat is a clock
that does not wither,

but illuminates and swells
with  the ways we chock
and wheeze, uncomfortable and

resigned to make the next days
worth every  moment of pleasure

not sacrificed without reward
or the common grace
of awakening.


No need to capitulate,
but make safe the way,
when the ending is clearly in sight.