Only Thirty

I am only thirty.
What have I accomplished?
a marriage – dissolved as a pill on the tongue
two children – I cannot think of leaving
learning, as I must,
there will not be nine lives for me
– I am no cat
more a moth
that has met its flame
not nine lives, or even one
and nothing to blame.

Air – a precious commodity –
will perish in my lung
diagnosis:
my wings burn behind me
my body a black mass
ice crystals form in my veins.
I am only thirty.
I will die
or I will rise again.

The tumbling dice will number my days;
with the right parts I could have a chance.
Lady Lazarus, show me your hand.

(c)Deb Matthews-Zott