Senex Puer

By Micah Towery

Out I fly, out of the fire
like a bat,
carrying my old man 
on my back. My wife? Oh 
she’s turned salt, looked back 
and led our blind 
little dog into piles of ash.  

Of course it wasn’t me 
who burned this Troy!, 
who made it hell, 
but might have been myself 
for all I care  

because I have the sea now 
and carry with me 
everything I need—my origin 
and what I will 
become. These twin-beating wings 
lift me up.