Two poems in two weeks about wanting. Must be up for me, perhaps you too. I love the quote by Abraham Hicks, "Satisfied with where you are at and eager for more." I am working on the satisfied part and notice how even little yearnings clutch at me.



It is always the weirdest things,
the latest, a little paper gift bag,
perfect for a bracelet,
dusty pink with metallic hearts,
there on a chair among a half dozen others,
spoils from my boyfriend’s daughter’s birthday,
I even thought, she’d never notice.

Magazines at medical offices,
in the last visit to the orthodontist,
Marie Claire with an article
about taking care of curly hair
and an AARP suggesting a trip to Utah,
even though I am not yet retired.

I didn’t fixate on the Tahitian pearl
on the thick gold chain of a neighbor
who looked fresh off a Ralph Lauren ad,
but lusted after her absorbent dish towels.

I want the bumper sticker from the Badlands
on the Subaru stopped in front of me,
from a girl on a bicycle,
crave her wicker basket full of lettuces.

I want to walk like a woman at the airport,
(we all put our bags down to watch her)
the swagger of some young adult men,
an Australian accent and attitude.

I want people’s pasts,
that they summered on a houseboat
or grew up with a pet rabbit,
wish I’d been on a tennis team,
that my Mom had made fondue.

If I could I’d snatch beauty marks and
certain cowlicks,
strawberry blond eyelashes and
dimples above my bottom.

All this petty wanting, coral reefs of desire,
pretty to look at,
but with sharpness that gets under the skin.