Marionette

After dark, I'm a marionette with
no strings. Mornings, I feel as though
my strings are still attached and I
can do what's expected of me.
Once the sun goes down, it's
anybody's guess what forces move me,
jerking about, limbs fidgeting randomly,
entirely unsteady. If I could ascertain
who or what guides me when guided, I
might have a better idea how to carry
myself when I'm on my own, detached,
as it were, let loose. As it is, I
can only guess, make assumptions,
and dream up fairy tales as to my
origins. And what of them? Why does
it matter what puppeteer in particular
carved me from lumber, gave me
presence, gifted me breath, if you
will? It shouldn't matter. I feel I
should be happy with strings or
without. I mean, I'm happy enough.
But when my legs start flailing
about, I'm set apart. So, I'm
compelled to ask: Why must you
unhook me? In itself, the unhooking
isn't so bad. But the least you could
do is decide one way or the other what
it will be--with strings or without?
Then I could train myself, you know,
suss it out, and, understanding the details
of my lot in life, be master of my own
destiny. You owe me that much,
don't you think?

(2008)