I am carrying my heart in a white
plastic thank you bag.
I collect pollen to attract the dying
bees and shells so the sea
might return. I am learning to wait.
I double knot my shoes against
the possibility
someone might
ask how I am.
I shape my mouth like something
forgotten, a wind or a prayer dragging
close to the ground, it is dirt that stirs,
but not my breathing.
What I want seeps through the fabric
of my skin. I hope there is room
in the thrift store for my need. I wish I
was ready for you.
Now that you have sold me on what’s
okay for the night to take.
.
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