my heart needs magic,
healing, birdseeds and birdsong.
girl with garden hair.
monet's garden or
galapagos islands.
green swamp, barefoot wild.
heart open to winter,
frostbitten hands and open fields,
yellow butterflies and someone to dance with
i think. i
want to walk barefoot in the grass,
not like monet's garden,
not like a stroll through the flowerbeds
but at home, at peace, with my hands full of song.
Hope. a thing that never stops singing,
i want to spin magic out like thread. I want to walk in the sun,
I want to be soft and pure and free, and only be afraid
of too much rain and holes in the leaves.
i want to feel safe in my bed.
i want to kiss a girl with her hair up
and see someone dance.
but i feel like a plant without roots,
disoriented, cast out, careening free
like stumbling barefoot out the front door
with your body aching and heart in your fist.
and birds don't want my seeds.
i don't want to be a girl, a woman, a person
anymore, i don't want to strive
except in the way a wave pushes out,
or water runs down, i want to be a crane, a bell, a tree
a worm chewing through the leaves
a steady lull of waves, a fish that knows its school
or a bird at the beginning of spring.
as steady as the outpush of spring.
i want to flee at winter.
o! they talk about mangoes,
about trees dripping with mangoes
i want to be sweet
and empty of expectations,
no history.
i want to be eve
and only think of love and naming trees.