Turn Yourself In

In The Trial, Josef K. is arrested on his birthday,

and I made much of it, throwing my hands forward,

testifying, telling my students what he did to deserve it 

was being born. I said it even as my son was inside me, 

weeks away from his first breath, and my class stared 

at my middle; they were waiting for a pardon 

I could not give. We’re all of us fugitives. 

If there’s a first breath, that means there’s a last.

Sometimes I imagine mine, what will rattle 

inside me. I think, I will throw my hands forward, 

I will give the angel of death my wrists. But maybe

she’ll laugh as I try to turn myself in. 

Maybe she’ll say, Think of a library and a book.