when I was a child
for reasons I still don’t completely
understand (is it because I was sick
and alone came so easy or
is it because
there was nothing left to do)
I made a deal
with somebody
or something
anything out there
I could not name
that might be listening
(I never believed in God
or anything that could be
named—
there was no
listening
to names
in me at all)
the deal I made
in fourth grade:
I’d trade everything
for the moment
of my fingers
everything
for whatever form
that moment
took
trade
everything
all of it
myself
and promised
to live by this vow
no matter where
my fingers drove me
what corner
lit or unlit
to what people
cruel or shy
criminal or priest
to what street
in no matter
what part of town
to what checking account
to what family
to what hunger
to what ruin
to what death—
what death?
what is death
if not
the moment
of my fingers
and I’ve always lived
up to my
end of the deal
(it was never feet
it never could
be with me—
for there is
no negotiating
with feet
when they hit
the water)
now this moment
of my fingers—
I don’t
know if
I made the right
choice or not
if I’ve won
or lost
let alone
how many
real moments
of my fingers
there have been
or
how many
there is
left to be
it’s just that
streetlights are bleeding
azure
across the sky tonight
and I no longer
defy death’s
shadow
I can see
my fingers
are only the bones
of my ancestors
spread
across
the earth
and only ever were
end of poem
end of youth
— Alex Leigh Farber is a writer, teacher, and street photographer based in Pennsylvania. His work appears or is forthcoming in Poetry Salzburg Review, LIT Magazine, Apofenie, Rawhead Journal and Mediterranean Poetry.