Find Me

My Greek Chorus says I need to drop the person who only gives half in order to find the one who will complete me. If only it could be that simple.

I could write my dreams on tissue paper and burn them, scattering the ashes in the winds of my wild prairie... That would only leave me weeping and covered in black.

I could stand in the produce aisle cradling an eggplant in the palm of my hand, willing love to become fascinated by my fascination with the smooth, tough skin.

Under a full moon I could transform myself into an entirely different woman: pious and quiet in a church or sly and blinking under the weight of my mascara in a bar. But as the moon shifted so would I and the illusions would fail us both.

A lovely friend told me its no use looking at all. He will be deposited in front of me when I least expect it. Which, of course, means I am always expecting it. Scanning left hands in the checkout line, paying special attention to the way strangers gesture and smile.

This is no good. No good at all.