The poem begins with a wild, almost playful wish to change everything: a third eye, extra arms, wings, a tail. But the wishes soon turn domestic. The speaker imagines wearing lace-collared dresses, baking a gingerbread house, becoming softer and quieter, and keeping the family's photos and letters in order. The jokes about wings fade into something more serious.
The reason appears near the end. The word "baby" and then "him" suggest the speaker is preparing for a child, though the poem never says so outright. That would explain the wish for a house with no sharp edges and a world without guns, where even the gods shake hands. The mood mixes tenderness with anxiety. The speaker's hopes sound gentle, but they are also huge and impossible, and that gap shows how fierce, and how frightened, this love is. The final lines widen from one sunny house to "every corner of every place."