9
His hair, the perfect shade of midnight. His tongue,
lacquered with disdain. I never learned how
to properly de-feather a thunderstorm, though once
I taught a cumulonimbus to cha-cha.
These days, I'm only hovering at sitting height,
but I once stooped with the best of them.
3.
Now my dreams are dreams of escape. Sometimes
I’m not wearing pants, sometimes the lizard
people chain me to my job ironing their shirts.
You know what would be really terrifying?
My father telling me that I’m free to go.
Unless he had snacks. And gold. And those chocolates
wrapped in gold foil so they look like coins.
It isn't so much the smell of the weather as the thought
that no one will remember the outfit I wore today,
but I need it to make the perfect getaway.
Take a bus to the coast, jump on a freighter.
Debark in Macao, take a tramp steamer
to Fiji, make a raft out of coconuts, sail for
months, mating with sharks, slurping
phytoplankton. Land on a desert island.
Make a hut out of palm leaves and shells.
And then there’s a knock at the door.