Push

I don't care more
than you care,
I doubt my lungs
take more in,
I'm a feather in the middle
that completes a wing,
a blueberry
balancing on butter just so,
if there's a diamond
abandoned in your mother's drawer,
a key to an office
long closed,
then I'm the right age
for coffee on the porch,
I'll remember books
and gospels long overdue,
if you get a phone call
that returns
and returns to a swing in a tree,
I'll push, do a duck under
and run.