Thursday, August 3, 2017


(the eggplant couldn't wait
so i held it between my fingers and bit it
while i walked beside her.
the tall man born in the Netherlands said,
"peripatetic eggplant'
so i promised him poetry for breakfast.)

sit seven secure women at a table
and i drift and dream of matriarchy in the white house.

i will smell last night forever
and request a lifetime of conversations that crawl toward midnight
   with fever, cocktails, and Paul
(the tall Netherlands man.)

i don't believe sweat has color
so throw away what's pink and blue
and just pay me for every drop of salt on my forehead.

i want men who look me in the eye,
who balance respect with admiration on their tongue,
who share unfamiliar words, encourage risk,
and trust my body is connected to my brain.

i want women who drive women into independence,
who seek solution over opinion,
who hold each other in darkness
and let go when sunlight calls,
  because there is a world to run.

i am peripatetic
i cherish women
  and Paul.

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