EVERYTHING SHOULD CHANGE

Everything should change. I should grow a third eye or another pair of arms. Or wings.

Maybe I will sprout wings or grow a tail. I’ve always wanted a tail.

Maybe I’ll stop wearing jeans and start wearing cotton print dresses with lace collars.

Should I try again to like sewing? Dare I attempt a gingerbread house?

I want to be softer, quieter. I want to remember the stories so I can tell them right.

All the old photos labeled, the letters in boxes, the knick-knacks accounted for.

There will be no sharp edges in our house. Nothing loud.

The world should get better. All the guns should vanish, and everything else that might hurt

a baby. All the gods should stop and shake hands out in public where their people can see.

Everything should get beautiful for him, not just his house with the lilacs, with the little garden,

with the sunny, soft-colored rooms, but every corner of every place. Every single one.