dear mary o,
the soft animal of my body is in crisis.
i went to the river and got turned back
by mosquitoes,
of all things.
i went to the forest
and got turned back by sadness.
i sat in the long grass
turned my eyes to the sky
and was blinded
by impatience.
it has been so long
since carrots tasted like carrots
and tomatoes tasted red.
my toes, too long in shoes,
forgot the forgiveness of sand.
the dirt under my fingernails
was replaced by ink
– which was not so bad at first
but it is hard to wash off,
and doesn’t smell nearly as wholesome.
your galaxy always seemed so much
calmer
quieter
fresher.
even the flapping wings,
the hot buzzing of insects
possessed a stillness.
my galaxy is now – OMG! – so OTT
i can barely
stand it.
so: i have begun construction
on a new planet. admission is by invitation
only. no plastics, electronics
or genetically engineered food products allowed.
lichen, wolves, geese, snakes
and yes, mosquitoes
will be welcome.
fish and bees will thrive.
forests will no longer be sad.
water will be entirely
drinkable.
i would like you, mary o.,
to cut the (all-natural, organic) ribbon at the grand opening
of my new planet.
there will be hummingbirds
and singing
and frollicking dogs
and lemonade and
cherries.
the soft animals of our bodies
will love themselves again.
we will dance
under the whispers
of the moon
and all of our masks
will come off.
spatherdab 