Last Night I Dreamed I Made Myself
your paperweight. This seems
wrong. Seems like a sign that I need
to spend more time on my own, so I
call my friend and drive him to the store
full of overpriced healing stones. I want
the women shopping to know I’m not
with my friend. I want them to know
how great I’m doing with my adventures
in independence. I’m ready to shout,
Look at my healthy new life! But my friend
thinks it’s a bad idea to frighten people
in a place with so many hard throwables.
Would they hurt me? These women
look as if they’d smell like pink magnolias
and violin rosin if I got close enough,
but I won’t. I’m too busy searching for
the stone that best represents me—it’s
not the blue one specked with God bits,
or the ear-shaped obsidian. It’s
not anything polished—and I think
about how hard it is for me to believe
in the first Adam because if Adam
had the power to name everything,
everything would be named Adam.
Then I think, That’s a pretty smart thought.
I don’t say it to my friend. I don’t say it
to the magnolia women. Do they still
count, these hours I’ve spent on my
own, do they still count if I’m saving
all of my shiniest thoughts for you?
