This is Desire
I am a novice.
All alone with what I hope
is just the right amount of reverence
I am trying to coax calm to my side,
trying to hollow out a place in my heart
for it to turn around three times and lay down.
I am a nest, I say, but I’m not.
I am a novice.
I am inept, maybe nuts.
This is desire, I say,
but my heart already knew this.
It guffaws and says, “Tell me about it!”
My heart is worse than a robber;
It’s a hoarder; a collector; it’s a packrat.
My heart is a novice.
This is desire.
Outside, my birdfeeders are empty
because I’ve been too sad to fill them.
I am bereft of birds; this is desire.
A few fly in from the woods anyway, remembering;
the shapes of feeders continuing to say
“seeds” to them. This is desire.
This is hopeless!
This is a thought I’m having;
this is a poem, this is a wandering.
I am a novice,
I am a nest.
This is desire.
.
by Trish Crapo
from Five Minute Pieces
1998