Come Back Inside

I can't choose it.
I sure as hell can’t stop it.
If it comes, it comes.
When it comes—
like a stray,
without permission.

I’m just here to watch it,
to let it be known.
Is that okay?
Hand it off, let it walk.
I hope so.

Because I can’t fix it.
Can’t hold it down.
It is what it is,
and I am what I are.

Her.

Chasing its tail in circles,
losing time.
Not a matter of choice.
But I won’t lock it in,
won’t tie it down.

I need it loose.

I’ve ignored it.
Left it out in the rain.
Like a kid with no home,
on a leash but still running—
like a dog.
Except she’s lost,
and I don’t know
if she’s looking for home
or running from it.

What if I don’t hear her bark,
or scratching at the door?
She tries to escape,
again,
and again.

No leash this time.

I find her running,
but I don’t catch her.
Even though the yard is small.
Even though the gates are shut.
Even though I latched the damn thing myself.

She’s following something.
Something I can’t smell.
That little girl—barking at nothing.
Still in the yard.

I listen,
but I never understand her howls.
“Come back inside.”
I call to her.