giant

have you ever become so huge
there's nothing big enough 
for you to eat? i crouch beside the red cedar. 
my body bigger than our house. i do not know
how i ended up in the bones of a mammoth
but my fingers make earthquakes 
when they touch the soil. this is what
i've always feared most. that i will become
so capacious there will be nowhere to rest. 
this is the giant's fate. to always keep
one eye open so as to not crush everything he loves.
the planet, like a gumball. blue flavor. quick night.
trying to find a pasture without cows
to sleep. i have dealt with my head as a balloon
& having frog skin for a whole summer
but nothing is as terrible as being a giant. 
when other humans see me they put on 
sunglasses. they hold their breath 
like they are going through a tunnel.
i wish someone would come & be a giant
with me. that we could maybe take care
of a little flock of cows. tend them. 
dress ourselves in moss & strings of lilac & hyacinth. 
then, in the dark, tell stories of our smallest selves.
whispering, "thimble" & "needle eye."
you then replying, "robin's egg" &
"strawberry seed." i've heard you have to wait
for transformation. that it is both of you
& around you. i am waiting to be
small enough to feast again. i am waiting
for a bed that will hold all my teeth 
as they fall like rain from a cloud that follows me.
when i am manageable-sized the first thing
i'm going to eat is an entire watermelon.
you see, i am prone to hugeness. 
there is not a house big enough. a ceiling
that doesn't strain under the sound
of my longing. would you come though
& be hungry with me? i want to dream flavors.
conjure our violet escapes.