I want a house with a glass roof,
The sky a reminder of the infinite,
Where Van Gogh can sneak his stars
Across the horizon of my make-believe,
And the edge of the birch tree
Can bend the hands of his limbs to invite me.
I want a house with mirror-glassed windows,
So I can forever walk the rooms naked,
A naturalist in my toes, tanned of sun,
I’d fill the rooms of my flesh, careless
The intrusion of a peeping Tom,
Eyes level to my summer lover, secrets shared.
I want a house built on stilts, apparition in air,
The sills filled with pink-candied hearts,
where the hummingbird dips her head to taste,
Lazy Boy recliner by the kitchen picture window
Where I can rest my hands to catch the rain,
Mediterranean falling through my fingers.
I want my living room to house a rose garden,
No harsh carpet to burn my heels or knees,
A few scattered dandelions, daffodils, sunflowers,
only the tender breeze of my breath to touch their petals.
Leather couch my center stage, a literati display
Where poets like Anne Sexton can sit barefoot,
Marlboro dangling, words falling, incarnating.
(First appeared in All Things Girl, 2009)