My Will Poem by Diane Shishido

I hand it over.
If it is good day, I won’t take it back.
I hand over nothing willingly.
I grasp it tight.

I fling it forth
And then I run after it as if it were
Some precious piece of paper swept up by the wind.
Madly, I snatch it back.

Tomorrow I will wad it up
And toss it in the garbage can from five feet away,
Just to see if I can make it.
Later, I will fish it out,
And in a moment of anger.
I will set it on fire
And weep openly
As I morn it’s loss.