someone 

my thighs
are getting thicker--
maybe it's how
long i've sat 
at my desk or
maybe i'm becoming
a tree trunk--
veins
thickening into bark--
it's been too
long since
i caressed the torso
of a tree-- 
drew my finger
across the divets
that make up
her body-- the road
map for the forest
wrapped around
her rings-- grow
halos inside
your limbs like 
the oak tree-- 
i lost my leaves
dramatically 
in november with
the rest of them--
tell me who do
you become
to escape?
i often think
about who i would
have been if 
i would have somehow
ran away to
the city-- some big
city
with enough lights 
to make up
for the dulled 
night sky--
you of course
tell me you'll 
run away to
the seminary--
i can see you in
your cassock
& wooden cross--
we can't hide 
from the thickenning
of our own blood--
of course we can
make up stories--
right now
i'm making up
a story about 
a family
painting 
birdhouses
& hanging them 
from my earlobes--
maybe cardinals 
will nest here or
blue jays--
maybe here
at my desk
i will grow so
immense 
that i break through
the roof with
the growth
of my limbs--
oh the house will
be cold--
do trees shiver 
or is that just the 
wind?
my point is that
i need to
write this poem
while i still 
can-- i need to
tell you 
that there is no
such thing
as a "real you"
i am just as
much the country
girl who ran away--
neon-souled 
to a big city
& slept on 
a park bench 
as i am the boy
who feels his
body becoming 
a broad & course
sycamore--
feel free to sit
under me & pray
the rosary or
have a picnic--
fall in love with
your own vast arms--
the rings 
inside your
chest-- haunting
yourself with
years--
the callouses 
on your finger--
tips from walking 
a bass line--
sadly
you are uncapable
of being
anyone but yourself--
oh my desk chair
is a bird house
or maybe a 
bench where
i wait for
the septa bus--
don't worry i'm 
not leaving--
one of me is just
thinking about
the view
out the window 
as buildings
break 
into a sprint
& i fall asleep--
face against 
to the window--
breath making
fog--
& there i was
again--
hair full of
cherry blossoms--
catch them--
they'll melt
in your mouth
or is that snow? 
what i'm saying
is that you
can't really escape
becoming 
someone--
what i'm saying
is take
this opportunity 
to be everyone
& when you're done
come back here--
sit beneath
my trunk &
tell me 
tell me
tell me
all about it