Me! Babbling! Again!

she rises to find a tool
to etch herself into paper,
to pull herself out of thought
and into existence.
she reaches to find a place
to put herself into being,
to find a book to hide her words in,
and begins.

the swish-swish of long skirts
with exotic prints and colors, eyes
painted dark, cradling novels like
children, cradling children like
dreams, and dreams are dreams.
A future like infinite particles,
and reaching out, touching --
and the possibility overwhelms.

Being a person is so strange. I feel
as if I was meant to be a tree,
and there was a mix-up in Heaven.

I like talking to God in my own room.
Or by myself.
It is strange to have people talk God to me,
to put me in a chair
and to put God into a time zone.

Mirrors aren't measuring sticks
mirrors aren't to see ourselves

Remembering hammock days
ice tea days dock days the days
that we pretend we are most happy.

I wish I had a word to fit
everything into -- to squish
happymelodylighteyelidsmeadowsbelieve
and scream it in ice cream parlors
and pizza joints and into the ears
of girls who think they are fat
and make people look up again.

In Heaven,
Jeremiah and I will have a lot to talk about.