Monday, January 3, 2011
I tried to fit in.
I tried to sleep in a bed,
To stretch out on linen sheets with the scent of lavender on my skin, light as a blessing,
Or like snow on the frozen,
Staring straight up.
After a while, I always begin to itch and wear out razors by the pack full,
Watching the dirt on my feet turn to pads,
My nails to claws.
I tried to lunch with the ladies.
They ordered salads, and I meant to, too,
But before I knew it,
I was skidding across the table with a rabbit in my jaws
And it bled
On the cutlery and the bread,
And I grew nervous
As I lay it down dead and jumped through the plate glass
And into the night.
I tried to be what I saw.
But I have always been so hungry,
I have skulked around garbage cans and allowed housewives to shoo me with brooms.
I will drag one by her dreams to my home dug into the earth.
I will call her by the name of the eclipsed moon.
I will wait for her until she comes barefoot to seek my golden gaze
On the coldest night of the year.
I will tend as smooth and soft as such things can ever go;
I will speak in the voice I forgot before my earliest memory,
And I will make love with her
Oh, this time,