Years

Alicia Ostriker

I have wished you dead and myself dead,

How could it be otherwise.

I have broken into you like a burglar

And you've set your dogs on me.

You have been a hurricane to me

And a pile of broken sticks

A child could kick.

I have climbed you like a monument, gasping,

For the exercise and the view,

And leaned over the railing at the top–

Strong and warm, that summer wind.