Queer Poem-a-Day is a program from the Adult Services Department at the Library and may include adult language.
Snow falls in fat flakes.
At the restaurant, the painter puts her hand
against my face. We describe what we can see: the view
from the booth, the group of suited businessmen,
their mouths stretched wide with laughter.
I picture a world without ownership.
If I don’t care about being lovable,
I will become the most lovable I’ve ever been—
Wait. I’m failing again. I am like my mother
but with more innovative language.
My version of the city has ten stadiums.
An artificial island built on stilts.
Real oak trees grow there. I try to see
the wonder of plurality, being one of many.
The painter walks me home. Later, she walks home again.
Copyright © 2022 by Madeleine Cravens. This poem is originally published on Queer Poem-a-Day.