Some things cannot be helped:
natural disasters,
"that time of the month"
(which is widely considered a natural disaster),
chocolate cravings,
sleeping,
going to the bathroom,
flatulence,
cracking joints,
growing old,
being young,
body hair,
and

feelings.

Mostly feelings.

We're human.
They're allowed.
Have some, won't you?

I find myself wondering what my mother
expected to get when she
decided to have a second child.
There were undoubtedly
some preconceived notions
of what her daughter would be like.
I’m sure she pictured a graceful beauty
with an attractive smile and a gentle demeanor—
deep, dark brown hair like her own.

Sorry, Mom.

You had to settle for
a uncouth ball of tangled ambition,
the stubborn, imaginative smart ***
you never knew you could want—
who will overthink this enough
to form it into words.

At least you can say
you got the hair right.

It felt like a weekend night, and I was curled up on my couch waiting for you come over. It was so cold in my apartment that I had wrapped myself up in all sorts of patchwork quilts. I heard a knock on my window, but when I looked out, no one was there. I opened it so I could stick my head out and get a better look. I must’ve scoured every direction, saving “up” for last.

Craning my neck, I saw you there, in a little plane, hovering just as high as the trees, just below the streetlights. You were dressed like the Red Baron, scarf and all. Your plane looked just like his too. You yelled down, smiling, “Sorry I’m late, I forgot I had promised everyone that I would make it snow.”

Sure enough, you had a contraption on the back of the plane that was making a cartoonish putt-putting noise as it churned out fresh powder all over the sidewalks and streets. It made me laugh, and I pulled my quilts even tighter around me while I watched.

You dropped a rope ladder down from the side of your plane, “You can come with me if you want. It shouldn't take too long.” I immediately ran out the front door to meet you. I was so excited, that the patches of my quilt began to light up—all different colors, humming electric. I was really surprised by this, and I thought maybe I had done something wrong, but you just laughed and said, “Don’t worry—it will be nice to have the ambiance up here.” (Yes. You said “ambiance” in my dream— because that’s just how my mind works. )

So I climbed into the back of your plane, blankets and all. You turned around and said, “Just a couple of things…” You proceeded to tie my quilt around my neck like a cape. I watched the colored lights catch the corners of your eyes and your smile while you did this. You were right, the ambiance was nice. Handing me a pair of goggles, you told me to put them on and just said, “There, that’s better.”

We flew up and down the streets, both of us lit up in a warm, multi-colored glow, letting the snow fall on everything below.

I think I’m really looking forward to winter.

You’re a lot like that
five bucks I just found in my
winter coat pocket.

You swear you’re not much,
But to me? Killer jackpot—
and smiles for days.

Woke up thinking that
all days are great days for humps;
one just got lucky.

mainly for its cold
and my aching curves, due to
nights spent keeping warm.

Listen,
I'm really sorry
for not finishing
the teleportation device
like I promised.

I've misplaced my blowtorch
& I really do ****
at whipping up blueprints.

[I hate numbers & measuring.
more than most things in life.

So please don’t make me.]

I realize it would be beneficial
for everyone
if I just buckled down
& made it happen;

if I didn't sleep for months
& somehow managed to
defy all principles
of space & time.

I'm a woman with gumption, see?
I could definitely do it.

But there's something
devilishly attractive
revolving around the idea
of being without
such an ultramodern convenience.

**Or maybe
I just revel in
making you
work for it.