Enough

I can't believe, but
I want to believe; I want
to, I want to, I
want to, I want so much and
so, so many and
always, and that there is how
I know there is good,
because I want good; I want
to be good, I want
so much and always, and that
is exactly good enough.

The Plan

When I was born,
did my mother declare,
"This child
will grow up to be Nothing"?
Was my future shredded
on her wish to a
falling star?
Did God who
knit me together in
her womb have
a plan that I ruined?
Or was there no plan? Or
is this

what he planned for me?

She knew even then that she would not be the one

Shizuka danced
and sang and did not care
what else was taken from her because she had
memories
and her memories were of
her own
greatness.

When she woke Him in the dark she knew
even then that He would
leave her,
that she would
not be
the one to climb
the mountain paths at His side

And the gods again told her "No",
took from her all
but her
greatness,
and she held the little body
of sorrow and
spat into the wind.

Stupid Questions

Over and over you ask me
Why don't I want you
Why don't I want you

But you know the answer

You tell me every day
that the parts of me that I hate
are the real me.
When I'm with you
I despise both of us.

You think I'm a bad person
and that thought makes you

happy

Don't ask me
Don't ask me any more
stupid questions

Product Labels

Meg from Canada loves swing sets.
Meg from Canada can read product labels in French.
Meg from Canada wants us all to go winter camping. In a yurt.
Meg from Canada spent thirty minutes at a party playing with cat toys and refusing to say anything but "meow".
Meg from Canada says that last week she ran out of maple syrup, and she was thirsty so she went to the moose hatchery to get more, but she didn't feel like hitching up her dog sled, so she got out her snowshoes instead.
(That is a joke. Moose hatcheries do not stock maple syrup, only Molson and affordable prescription drugs.)
Meg from Canada says it's okay that I'm bad at driving automatic.
She plays softball and likes marshmallows.
She laughs a lot.
And I'm just like, Universe,
are you serious?

Eggs

My womb is dead
and, with it, all the full-figured dreams
that lit my adolescence like Las Vegas signs,
shouting, "This way
to happiness!"

There was never any treasure to be found
beneath the spot marked X;
there was never a mirror,
never a lover,
never even a friend.

The prayers I whispered to Hebe,
she spun into a cotton candy cherub,
and I petted it
until it melted
and hardened and grew small.

This is a blessing to thank
God for. Now I can never
be tempted to plant seeds in the darkness,
where they will struggle and suffocate
and die, blighted.

But I wonder about the ones I wasted,
wrapped up in paper and neatly threw away.
These round half-people--
were their eyes brown-flecked like mine?
were they right-handed? would even one of them have not been

full up with desperation, choking on its mother's
despair?