Tired of his shadow, a boy tries to be the farthest smallest
star, that prick of light unnamed at the tail end
of a latticework, watching the astronomers pass
over him, seeking his colossal father, eons away,
anything less than a planet is unthinkable,
a boy tries to be what is forgotten in a face.

*

Tired of his footprint, a boy tries to be the farthest smallest
town, just outside the map’s clean divide,
between states, an unnamed dot, perhaps less
than his founders expected when planting a flag
and claiming the earth their own, calling together in praise
the gods that have changed,
a boy tries to be the outlying mountains
and the river that endures.

*

Tired of his size, a boy tries to be the farthest smallest
corner of a house, where the longest broom cannot reach,
dark and forgotten, a boy tries to shake off the light and dust
of what he’ll eventually become.

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 2.