let me be open
let me tear
a wet, brown paper bag hearing the lunch bell
spilling forth chicken salad sandwich cheese nips and juice box
barely holding it all
in, clutched by a warm hand
bathed in the light of the cafeteria.
let my ribcage irrupt
on the airplane
let oxygen masks drop down from my sternum
so that others can calm
themselves down first, and then their children
during a pressure change in the cabin.
let my dead branches bear fruit
buds and flowers and green in the spring
the smell of new roses and soap
astonishing the neighbors.
let me be the blackstrap molasses in your peanut sauce
stir me in,
let me bear weight
let me have a metallic aftertaste.
make room for me on the ground,
let there be two spaces for my feet.
let my hands fade in the evening
without trepidation.
let me be dizzy and limpid.
and let the grass tickle my arches
when i move.
