Change and I

When I am furious with Change, I berate it;
“I am tired of your unrelenting beatings,
tired of your latency, then rapidity,
tired of your inconsistency, no warnings.”

I demean Change until I am convinced
it is whittled into nothing but nonsense.
Nothing but melted sounds and gibberish.

I degrade Change until it is meager,
beatable, and broken like a famished
dog’s ribs. Change becomes a dog's unlocked jaws.

I can try to compress Change into an age,
I can try to constrict Change into an ache,
but I cannot conceive Change into content.
When I am with Change, I can never be content.

Sawyer Fell


18 years old

More by Sawyer Fell

  • Written Meals

    I do not know how to bake 
    something from scratch, 
    like my mother’s cookies. 
    With her instinctual precision 
    and her habitual familial ease. 
    I did not inherit this side of her.

  • On Being Vane

    Somewhere between a flower and a coffin
    lies the colorless sunrise outside your windows.
    I am devoted and still breathing like the Elin.
    You are innocent and still sleeping like the Pothos.

  • As She Pleases

    To be a woman
    is to be a banquet.
    Eclectic, savory, distinguished.
    A summer potluck of femininity;
    a Thanksgiving toast to masculinity;
    an Easter brunch with androgyny.