Moving

By Skylar Nipper

I have lived in a rickety lean-to

For years upon years.

I was born here, raised here, built here.

Inside, pine needles fall from the roof

And land on my bedding, and I sleep

In sheets that pierce my skin each night.

Outside, there is a cliff only a few

Feet away from the lean-to’s entry.

The waves below crash against the rocks

Over and over, building and flowing

And rolling and crashing and building again.

I have lived in a rickety lean-to

With a roommate called Death,

And Death has been a good friend.

He cooks food in the mornings,

Dusts the grass that has blown in

Through the open hut in the afternoons,

Soaks up rainwater floors with rotting rags

In the evenings, and when night falls,

We sleep knowing we are lonely,

But not alone.

I have lived in a rickety lean-to

For years upon years,

But it is time for me to leave.

I was born here, raised here, built here,

And I stayed because where else was I to go?

I had shelter, and I had sheets,

And I had food, and I had Death.

What else was I to have?

But my sheets are filled with pine needles

And my feet stick out the ends

As I grow taller, and I can no longer

Eat in the mornings when I know

The waves will crumble these rocks,

And Death and I both see that 

I am grown enough, free enough.

I have lived in a rickety lean-to

And now I am leaving.

I do not know if the birds

Will still sing in the mornings

Or if the Sun will still set the same.

Will the squirrels still visit?

Will the wind still carry the sea?

I am leaving with nothing

But the clothes on my back

And the knowledge that there is

Something more out there for me.

I was born here, raised here, built here,

But I was not raised good, I was not built good.

I have lived in a rickety lean-to

With Death, and though I still

Have a pine needle heart,

I am moving into Life’s domain.

There is something more out there for me,

But I will have to make it myself;

I will have to make myself.

By Skylar Nipper