to call this nun in South Carolina,
tell her to scrap the convent, buy a gown
and birth-control pills, meet me in China,
Bonsai Forest, Penjing Garden, lie down
with me right there at the pagoda. Night
time, of course, when nobody’s around. I
want moonbeams to sing for her while starlight
reveals her fortune, explains to her why
I want to slop mops as a janitor
in Greenwich Village, earn enough to pay
rent and health insurance so she can pour
her soul into oils on canvas, display
her work in Soho weekends while I pen
verse at home. I want our hearts to open
like prayer plants to sunlight in our dwarfed den.
Roger Armbrust
June 28, 2010
