That there wouldn’t be time

That I would have to hurry

That I would forget things

That I would be late

That I would be messy

That I wouldn’t have brushed my hair

That my clothes would be wrinkled

That I would be shaking

That I would be running

With one shoe on

Parts of me bouncing

That I would be dropping

Important things onto the ground

Leaving a trail

That I wouldn’t be good enough

When I got there

That I would be breathless

And sweaty

That when I got there

There you would be

Smiling and loving

The wildness of me.

by Kathleen MacGregor

Where are you?

Sure I’m pretty,

Sure.

But I have no arms,

Can you see?

I have no arms.

When will you remember me?

I have been waiting

In this cold sea

For ages.

Do you see?

Do you see me?

I have no arms.

And my legs

Are beneath the waves

So deep,

I’ve never seen them.

But I feel they’re there.

Do you see?

I am in pieces.

How much longer does this have to go on

Before you remember me?

The emptiness

Gets emptier.

I disappear more and more

Fading into vastness.

I long to be filled

In.

I long to feel the weight of

Substantial Earth.

My body.

Yes to be Body!

And how often have you felt

Earth in your face?

In your head?

I mean that rich, metallic, sex lava

That rises up from the center

And moves in and up.

Oh, God! I am

Sick and tired of floating, drifting

Where are you?

Remember me.