What I Wanted
       

I wanted to lift you up, especially you, Patricia M.,
from a state next to mine—for your dog Logan Blue,

who gets an obituary note, and for your high school
prom date, Jim Vash, whom you must have loved

but who doesn't seem to be the father of your four
kids. I wanted to celebrate with confetti and to know,

to pronounce my name, over and over, with death
in the back of my throat, to imagine the forthcoming lines

written for me, perhaps, woven with a dog's name
or two, leavened with a humorous note, a poem,

cinched by the belt of numerous towns I lived in, men
and others who I loved. Can the list go on:

I wanted to name books that bowled me over, birds I saw
or held, countries I flew to, oceans and deep lakes

waded in or swum across, slopes I skied at midnight,
food I couldn't live without. O earth, O trees.

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Copyright © 2018 Patricia Clark All rights reserved
from Deadlifts
New Michigan Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission