Poetry 123: Next Time

Next Time

I’ve been discussing
this with god
already:
Next time
I’d like to be
an elephant.

 

Or maybe an orca,
a wolf,
or a canadian goose.

 

You see, these
are all animals
who travel in packs.

These are all animals

who don’t kill
or disown
their own kind.

 

I know
according to the sages
I’m supposed to be
incredible grateful
for this human
incarnation.

 

And I am.

For parts.

 

Like the other day

when my four year-old
called the freshly fallen
snow that was stuck
to the trees around us:
snow flowers.

That was precious-

I’m grateful for that.

 

I’m  grateful for her,
my son and
my husband.

 

Yet, sometimes,

when the betrayal sears
my heart in two
and the hypocrisy
burns like hot iron on
my skin,
it feels like
the excruciating pain
of this human incarnation
can be too much to bear.

 

In those moments,
I feel like Miss Alice
in her Wonderland,
where up is down,
and cats are smiling,
and my very own GPS
says:
I don’t know where
the fuck you are.

 

So yes, if I may be so bold,
next time, please,
an elephant,
an orca,
a wolf,
or a goose.

 

I’ve been a tulip
in a rose garden
for far too long.

 

Next time,
let me
be.

-Me