I cannot
make the clouds push away the rain.
I am not responsible for the sun that shines
afterwards.
I am human,
I do not command the tides and winds
to bring fresh flowers in spring.

I cannot
draw the arrows towards the lovers
nor will I intervene in their paths.
I will not push the heavens together
the way the myths once did before.
I should not be able to feel disdain
as easily as I am to breathe.

I cannot,
no,
I will not
force you to love me.
I am not able
to lock my heart
in a display case
and open it
when convenient.

what I am,
dear reader
and what I can be
is a lover.
I can be a wife.
I can be what you desire
even if the picture
is not perfectly mirrored.

what I will be,
dear reader
is patient.
still.
like the cascades
of color
in Renaissance paintings.

I am a good person,
a loving woman
and a patient one.

though the thought
the mere mention
of putting what I want
and what you want
in a jar,
scrambled together
bobbing for the apples
of compromise
makes me feel cold
and incapable of
understanding,
I can do it,
dear reader.

so I draw myself back,
to the "I cannot"
one last time
and say in one
breath:
"I cannot get lost in myself."