canceled plans

the moon texts me to say, 
"i can't do it tonight." there are 
secret police. there was a siren 
in the sky & i wasn't sure to what kind
of emergency sought to warn us of.
i tell the moon,
"it is probably better you stay home."
i am worried about when & if i will
see the street like it was the summer 
before my teeth fell out. i have to say
i love canceled plans. i hold them
like dream terrariums. there we are
as painted turtles. 
there we are watching the stars
buzz above the sink. my partner & i joke
about being opposites. he wants to 
always be out in the world 
i wants to stay inside. plant tomatoes 
in the floorboards & see what grows.
when the sun texts me too, i start
to worry. someone has to plant their feet
in the sky. i once climbed a lighthouse
with my whole family. i imagined 
living up there until i learned 
where wings come from. i break more promises
than i ever have. tomorrow. tomorrow.
i need to stop pretending like 
there are not cameras in the shape 
of men. that there are not laws that come
like parasite babies. a body to hold.
a body to hollow. yes let's try again
tomorrow when the moon is here & the sun
is making tea again. i don't know
if that will stick. if i do not see you
pretend i have seen you. we can sit in separate
horrors & draw pictures on the ceiling
of our garden. the moon is running.
i found her shoes in the yard. scuffed white sneakers.
i look up methods to distract a god.
my purse fills with cell phones. an empty car 
parked by the forest opening where
the hunters go to track down a buck.
i call you in the middle of an ice storm.
i say, "please be with me."