IN MY NEXT LIFE, I WANT TO BE A PRAYING MANTIS
Simply thin as paper and half the weight
Lightweight, green all over,
like a construction paper boat headed for a sewer drain.
Not like this:
Me,
long,
longing. Longing for
bigger tits and a smaller waistline and
a mouth that stops running, running.
My calloused hands were meant for begging.
Everything they touch,
I demand more of,
my voice only ever croaking please. My
heart only ever pounding out its discontent.
In my next life, God, make me something
as reverent as the mantis,
humbling myself among the grass,
eating dirt, or something like that,
seeing only in black and white.
Never dipping myself naked in the lake, squealing,
ogling at my own reflection in the inky water.
Never kissing a mouth so hard I feel my skin burn with light.
Never aching for more,
more,
a want pulsing so deeply I become a two-legged bruise.
Simply thin as paper and half the weight,
grateful for everything my praying hands touch.
Emma Baker is a junior at Wellesley College. She has been previously published in The Wellesley Review. She is a lover of her lesbian boyfriend and all things strange.
