Note To Myself
When will you stop reaching for shiny objects?
Believing in the impossible may work for Alice,
But all of this playing in traffic,
All of this believing that God is in everything,
Is just childish
And no longer cute.
Your body has gone off and left you--
Little orphan amid the shelling,
Little ghost in the gathering dark.
Love never knew your name--
She so haughty and cold;
You trailed after her like a puppy anyway...
Now it's time to stop.
Stay in your kitchen.
Make your black-iced cakes.
Be Our Lady of the Animals.
Forgive that green-eyed girl
For your flaws and for the ridiculous vanity