January

And when she wants us no longer,
we are free.
Free, save for our mouth and its contents
which of late have bubbled over
and begun to trail down the chin.
But free all the same.
Save for our hands and their
continual and unrelenting tugging
on the strings of things that once were
and are yet to come.
But free
.
And if we could find the butcher,
and remove these things,
we would be so helpless,
we'd never worry
of being free again