The clamor of pots and pans
in my head: I can get jealous
over anything. A river
that speaks Spanish.
Excellent spelling.
A man whose shoes look
as if they really know how to dance.
The way oranges in a bowl
can own the morning. I once got jealous
of a tree in fall, how calm it was
to be the daughter of fire
and shed the shimmer
that made it special,
that made people stop and think,
There goes one hell of a tree.
Do you ever feel the only way to be happy
is to be someone else? Well that's
my life. Banging on the door
of my face to get out,
pleading with the wind
to reach in, grab me like a balloon
and teach me how to rise
above myself. It never does,
just goes on and on
going on and on, as if
the one thing it knows for sure
is anywhere I am not
is the place to be.

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