Push

I don't care more

than you care,

I doubt my lungs

take more in,

I'm a feather in the middle

that completes a wing,

a blueberry

balancing on butter just so,

if there's a diamond

abandoned in your mother's drawer,

a key to an office

long closed,

then I'm the right age

for coffee on the porch,

I'll remember books

and gospels long overdue,

if you get a phone call

that returns

and returns to a swing in a tree,

I'll push, do a duck under

and run.