My walls are enough. Put down the pictures.
My laugh is enough. Turn off the movie.
My child is perfect. Look away from the others.
My life is mine. Turn my eyes inward. Spend time attending to the dishes and the laundry. Clean the acorns off the driveway.
Plants thrive when spoken to. So too inner peace. Spend time being in my life, molding it, spinning on a potter’s wheel, wet clay in my hands.
Make the beds and sweep the floors. If a storm comes, I’ll be ready.
The lint and dog hair on the bathroom floor
curl up into wet swirls when I try to capture them
rings in the toilet bowl
I hunch over futilely
pushing dirt around
like I did for the newspaper
publishing liars’ secrets about wild horses in Wyoming
councilmens’ vacation spending
just to return to a desk covered
with dirty leads
How I long to let the scum on the bathroom floor pile a mile high
ignore the lying and cheating men with power
who will return in the next generation, anyway
and lie down in the warmth
of a dimly lit
the sound of waves
against a peaceful shore
Who would fight a wave?
Who would hold back the ocean?
If the ants didn’t bite I would
leave them in my kitchen
Tired of keeping the
the inside in
cooling what is hot
heating what is cold
drying what is wet
watering what is dry.
I’ll sip from a coconut
slowing being covered up by sand
by the second.