24.30 GREED

Trying to write seven poems on the last day of April to finish up 30/30. Farewell, National Poetry Month. It’s been really real.

GREED

I was given a mother
and a father. I wanted them
in the same house. Given half
a brother. Yanked his lost twin
back by the shadow. Given a cat,
her three litters of kittens.
Hid them in my dress pockets.
The mailbox. Slippers. For weeks,
I kept them all. Demanded a dog.
The whole zoo. Scooped up the lost
Chihuahua on our doorstep. Haven’t
let her down since. I was given privilege
skin and asked forgiveness. The sun
and moon sharing the same sky.
Given breasts, asked for ass.
Given smart, asked for thin,
for buffet, couch,dessert
and waistline. Had a man
who loved me quiet as snow.
Hunted thunder. Got it.
Asked for distance. Granted.
From everyone. Asked for friends,
made them up. My life was spared,
I asked for death. Given death,
I asked for more. To relive
each morsel of ache. Given paper,
plume, unbound language. 
Asked for spotlight. Stage time.
Your undivided attention. Wrote
a book. Wanted spine. To feel it all.
For everyone else
to feel it too.