I want to awake at dawn
And with the finality of the seventh day, say:
(Or better yet) have no memory of that
I want the culprits of sex-traffic to awake
Beating their own breasts
Compassion like filial love pours forth like
I want to thaw this ice-capped heart and let it be
A warm spring, consoling others so
I’m no longer forgotten like a corpse
One who invaded a space, nourished nothing
And then was gone.
But be remembered with a sincere smile.
I want to be washed in the vitality of my youth, to have it return in torrents, global glaciers melting and baptizing so when I awake I’ll hand-sew my daughters’ dresses, fine embroidered needlework and boldly lead them into the soaked earth sloppy splashes muddy puddles, teach them with a half-smile all the rules, and with the other half how to break them.
I want to live according to the seasons: Celebration, Retreat, Deep Winter, Thaw, Easter, Runoff, Psalms,
Celebration. And be freed of them.
Let’s toast in the Deep and meditate in the summery Psalms, make babies in Death and Resurrection and bring forth life in the Fall.
I want to awake and spill my slippery dreams onto the ground like a painting
And then run downstairs to see my daughter’s masterpiece.
I want my liquid words to come from solid action,
I want my ice to melt.
In the dark frozen night no one, not even God, cares what I want.
I don’t care what I want; there I am not a co-creator.
But I ask for climate change.
I ask for mercy.
© 2016, Amaya Engleking