I step out of my old clothes:
shame, frustration, rage.
I take them off like a child coming in from the cold
into a warm house, throwing them in a wet pile
on the floor.
Again I am opening the door,
again unzipping my coat.
Over and over I must learn the same lessons
like late October sleet
that bends the birch, still heavy with leaves, almost to breaking –
And again I shake if off, stand
in my same body in the light: here, now,
water dripping from my sleeves.