why not me, mlb
She gets the first word because she has time to
While I carry the day
in heaping loads of laundry & lunches
She drifts freely
Like a wild toddler following his emotions
Chasing bubbles across the yard,
innocent but callous
And the world parts for Her
Why not me?
She points fingers that twist & curl like sour milk
While I load dishes into an overfilled machine
Barefoot pouring coffee & slicing morning bread
Listening for the creak of the bathroom door
She floats by me like mist, her bones ghostly untouchable
While my body thick & soft
is kneaded & reshaped into the lee of a mother
Starved only for a small scrap of the time She tosses away so carelessly
She whips like water against the haul of my craft-I can hear her knocking,mocking the blistered crew
But She won’t ever come in
She dances hot & dry in her own head
While I am drenched with little voices whispering out from their universes
Their needs blanketing me
weighted & loud like winter-rain
She tosses her chin in anger pushing back any who would dare to doubt her
Ignores the night by turning on all the lights
holding court, basking in her own reflection
While I travel by the light leaking in the small panes running the servant's stairs
If I was like Her I would go off chasing antelope
bath in re-factions of light
drown myself in words
Marie Antoinette the children at the garden gate
and forever sleep in the hot sand
Why not me?
…Because it never was.
And it never will be.
Even though, sometimes I wish it were.