you are there, in the kitchen
of my dream
at the stove making enchiladas
and tapioca.
you are probably one hundred and
i think you might keel over, dropping
your white head into the *** of yellow
pudding.
i wonder how you got so suddenly old
and i so suddenly young when
i can remember
reading fairy tales
buying you sugary breakfast cereals
and letting you sleep in my bed
even though you kick
and also tell people
the embarrassing things i say
in my sleep.
i am so hungry i want to eat it all
and leave none for you
but you say to wait
to wait until my eyelashes turn
into a million tiny butterflies
and tickle my skin
with their light wings.
but i'm hungry now, i whine
shoving past you
pushing a hot tortilla between my teeth
and swallowing greedily
desperately
before collapsing
into a sea of blue tiles.
i awake violently, your small foot at my chin.
staring at me is a toenail painted blue.
i stare back at it, into that
tiny ocean.

(this is a revised version of my earlier poem, "i like to wear big hats")

on a day between winter and summer that does not feel like spring
i stand in the mirror and pinch my cheeks 'til my eyes water
to make them look like roses.
i put on my great grandmother's gray cloche hat
and pretend i am a famous actress playing daisy buchanan
in the great gatsby.
teary eyed, i gaze beyond my own reflection
and listen to that man.
"don't you love me, daisy?"
the phone rings.
it's you.
we see a romantic comedy, which fills us both
with something like cotton candy.
but it's temporary so we get chinese food
because you say you like sweet
and sour pork.
i never liked the aftertaste.

at the county fair on the zipper
which everybody says is held together
in places with duct tape
you kiss me with blue-raspberry
slurpee lips
while we flip
and flip and
my stomach is sick
but i don't mention it.
the sky beyond the bars
of our cramped car
is still blue
but the night is bleeding in.
i wish i could swim
in that lingering blue:
play mermaid like as a child
on summer nights
in the neighbor's aqua pool.
in the water, weightless --
yet even then, perfectly careful
to avoid the deep end
where the sharks lurk.

I like to wear big hats
and old, funny shoes.
I stand in front of the mirror and  pretend
I am Daisy from The Great Gatsby
and I say
"Tom,
I do not love you,
I do not love you,
I do not love
you."
Then you call me.
We see a movie and eat Chinese food
Because you say you like
sweet and sour
pork.
I never liked the
aftertaste.