People whisper my name from the shadows of their mouths. Your life is a party. I am the guest who is hours early and keeps you from setting your table. I am the guest who arrives after everyone leaves, the wine bottles emptied, and the plates already cleaned. You don’t remember inviting me. You only know that I am sure to come. You send me your children to harvest, then blame me when they are gone, but I am innocent. I did not plant these seeds in the sand. I only gather what you throw away.
