Vacant Number Three

My birthday is tomorrow :) I couldn't help but think about Pinehurst, where I spent so many birthdays..

"Vacant Number Three"

When the white ball reaches the eighteenth hole
and the plinking sound of a swinging club and the
chatter of old men
sinks into the green earth, slippery and
smooth like my tongue forming new words
against my teeth
I know it is my time
When the dark lay its corpse heavy on the mud hills
I slide my fingers under the rim of the dirty window pane
pushing upward –
unhinging the screen from its gaping hole
onto the roof
shaking in fear that I may wake them, knowing
the depth of myself
and the hair on my legs because
I am cold
I stretch my feet into the nothing and
black asphalt.
I bend and shift my weight,
edging myself to the end
lifting my skinny throat to see where the end may be
I lay, trusting the diagonal of my body
and the hum of the cicada
and I face the sky
broken with salted stars