When I Say I Know What I Want

To find myself, unsurprisingly, unceremoniously
in a greek honeymoon suite alone in the middle of
june, salt flirting with my upper lip slipping well

past to pour at my feet and to be my mother’s
emergency contact. To have a milkman knock on my

door every day at 7 and to be discovered resplendent at
seoul biennale. A frivolous fake wedding and reluctant
respect of a teenage daughter. To be a sulawesi
tusker finding all of plath’s purple figs within reach
and a long belated landmark career in compliance.

I mean that I want to fall in love for the first time at 46 with
a backpacker on seine and fall dead for the last time
at 32 in the embrace of my high school lover.
A fast life and slow death. Soft cheese and sharp canines.
Pride and a paramour. To be a woman and to forget easy.