Regretting Youth

Mostly I lament the tame and nondescript
moments: the playground splinters; the generic card
I bought my aunt for her birthday, and mailed a day late; the extra time I spent
studying for compulsory, state-wide examinations.

Wildfire, you dug a hole for yourself, with your late nights
and incorrigible alcoholism. And yet that cavernous
impression you left in earth became a den—it was warm
where you were, your walls were solid.

By the hearth you remain. Where was I then, where am I
now?—outside in cold, lying in snow, my back tarnished
with melted flakes. Here in stiff air I flail my arms,
successful as all hell, trying to impress angels.