I'm highly sensitive, sometimes humorous, often stubborn, much too analytical, assertive when I want to be. I fall for silly men much too easily. I have way too many ideas (places I'd love to visit, careers I'd love to have, things I'd love to do) and not enough energy, money, or willpower to do them. But I'm thrilled by little, seemingly insignificant goings-on like my nephews' "Aunt Karen!" or sale-priced soy milk. I'm a vegan and have heard every comment in the books ("are those shoes leather?" "is that meat you're eating?"). I love good music. And non-fiction. And hazelnut or vanilla soy lattes. I have an obsession with avocados and couscous. And veggie burritos. I'd also love to run a marathon. I don't cry or read nearly enough. I cut and dye my hair more than enough. I spend too much money, but trick myself into thinking I've got plenty. I'd like to stop letting my emotions run the entire show. I'd like to be more productive. I'm trying to be a better person.
I think I'd like to be a nun. I can't imagine a marriage to the Lord turning sour. Not like most of my dating relationships. Perhaps there is something to be said for a relationship without sex.
"Watch out for power,
for its avalanche can bury you,
snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.
Watch out for hate,
it can open its mouth and you'll fling yourself out
to eat off your leg, an instant leper.
Watch out for friends,
because when you betray them,
as you will,
they will bury their heads in the toilet
and flush themselves away.
Watch out for intellect,
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.
Watch out for games, the actor's part,
the speech planned, known, given,
for they will give you away
and you will stand like a naked little boy,
pissing on your own child-bed.
Watch out for love
(unless it is true,
and every part of you says yes including the toes),
it will wrap you up like a mummy,
and your scream won't be heard
and none of your running will end.
Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide in on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give, when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
Special person,
if I were you I'd pay no attention
to admonitions from me,
made somewhat out of your words
and somewhat out of mine.
A collaboration.
I do not believe a word I have said,
except some, except I think of you like a young tree
with pasted-on leaves and know you'll root
and the real green thing will come.
Let go. Let go.
Oh special person,
possible leaves,
this typewriter likes you on the way to them,
but wants to break crystal glasses
in celebration,
for you,
when the dark crust is thrown off
and you float all around
like a happened balloon."
