I am sentient
enough– half-
asleep at the
wheel

I already
miss you
if I miss
my turn,

misguide
my controlling
hands into
another lane.

I have a tote
of sorrows
lugged
into a luggage,

third floor closet,
plastic blue bag
crinkling
in the night.

I wish–
I want–
you never
to read them.

This is a message
to me
from half
my current age–

though revelation
is what
I want
to avoid,

it is now
(was?)
true.

(originally published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Fall 2023)