My Own Skin Reabsorbed Poem by Delilah Miller

Some people are just eager to be alone
with photographs,
or empty houses,
or the roving tires on the car.
There's no anchor in me;
every honest face that meets my eyes,
I could leave behind.
In the safe places I've staid,
faces like those broke;
ice and winds hushed away everything
until I wandered unaffected in crumbling hallways.

Please don't call out for me to wait.
When I hear that,
the skin on my feet melts,
folds itself up in a dresser.
Nothing calls me away,
and I'm too tired of the concept of fate;
Destiny is wanting to feel completeness,
my own skin reabsorbed.
If I only feel that, so far, in a quiet room
perhaps it is solitude that is eager for me to stay.