My life is small
a tender thing
with teeth.

Sometimes it dances
with other tender things.
Sometimes it bites.

Its hands are mittens
buried in snow.
Its feet are hollow.

I'd say it is a dwarf
wandering in fields
of mud and clay.

I wish my life
were grander and kinder,
would cuddle.

It hasn't been tamed,
caged and afraid.
It's not hard to catch

though hell will be paid
if one attempted to keep.
It flies up to dreams.

It's larger than the world
itself and it snarls.
My life, in my hands.

Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng