One Lifetime

I have all my life
in front of me, to pick
linens, white and fluffy.
I can match or
mismatch my silverwares
and cups. Buy chipped
Fiestaware from old men.


All my life to make
bad choices,
I dig my heels in 
and sing. There, a wavering
in the sound that knows
I am free to pick
and choose for many years.


My curtains 
and the color of my kitchen;
of my boyfriend. 
Years to splatter paint
and kill plants
and count raindrops
on the roof from my bed.


All my life
like the sixties atlas
on the shelf,
a general landscape
I can still apply,
but the roads all curved 
different, new lovers' 
spines in my sheets.


All my life to 
smell their skin
and pick new soaps
to wash with.
So many dishes
to wash in my lifetime.


My hands itch,
to break free and 
catch the wind
because there are 
hours left for them
to work,
I need them yet
to fold the laundry,
build myself fortresses
of blankets.


All the kernels of popcorn
with my brother on the livingroom
floor. The numbers 
and math haven't been made up,
there aren't numbers 
that count lifetimes.


No limit to the mason jars
of sun-tea I'll make on my
porch, 
no limit to the love
I can make and
the flowers I'll
try to make bloom.


All my life to 
hang wash on the line,
listen for lobster boats,
and sing shanties.