my own hands cut
the threads
that sought to
bind me to this
human condition
leaving me bathed
in solitary refinement

i am a
dead satellite
long silent
after a final
garbled attempt at
calling home failed
a faulty transponder
no one thinks about
the battery indicator
flashing its last
blissfully untethered
from a home
i remember as clearly
as the back of
a mother’s hand