clearing 

i am thirteen & standing 
in a rainforest clearing. i am made
of leaves & mist. a breezes 
makes a shutter in me.
i am aware of where the fat collects
on my body. the thighs. the stomach.
my round face. 
so much about imagination
has to do with wanting.
how far have your desires taken you?
i take off my jeans & t-shirt. 
there are animals just out of reach.
i have always favored a good story 
over the truth. nearby the river
knew my name & the piranhas
clicked their teeth like castinettes.
a percussive song. a thermometer 
raised its red tower. what i wanted 
was a great opening-- like all the trees
encircling me simply turning to wind.
like widening my mouth the size 
of a butterfly net or inhaling the sun. 
above the clouds paint themselves
with brushes dug from humid dirt.
the throats of tree frogs pulse pocketwatch.
a window emerges & outside
there is a diarama town 
with pickup trucks & horse and buggies.
i pluck leaves to cover the window.
i lick my thumb to smooth out
the edges. a telephone wire
swims through the scene & i tell myself
this vine is black & thin.
the clearing belongs entirely to me.
the trees crawl with their roots
backing up farther & farther away 
until the clearing is as wide as my world.
trees are a wistful memory.
i pace & my ear buds burst into flames.
a song is playing from underneath my skin.
one day it will come out my mouth
in the form of shiny beetles.
it is terrible to be thirteen. imagination 
starts to flicker. the rules are
a lock blinking forward. in the next year
who will convince the sidewalk
to be extrodinary? a blade of grass
intrudes. i pluck the grass
& trace it against my skin.
my legs are shaved in patches.
the window is wide open. 
my own mouth. a zipper. a clip.
the animals retreat into a previous heart.
the clearing dazzles like a button. 
i am thirteen & made of skin & teeth.