Arriving

People often labor to attain
what turns out to be entrance
to a small closet
or a deep pit
or sorrow like a toothache of the brain.


I sat on my love as on a lid
of a chest holding a hungry bear.
you were what I wanted: you
still are.
now my wanting feeds on success and grows,
a cowbird chick in a warbler's
nest, bigger by the hour, bolder
and louder, screeching and gaping for more,
flapping bald wings.

I am ungainly in love as a house
dancing. I am a factory chimney
that has learned to play Bach
like a carillion. I belch rusty
smoke and flames and strange music.
I am a locomotive that wants to fly to the moon.

I should wear black
on black like a Greek woman,
making signs against the evil eye
and powder my head white. Though I try
to hide it I burn with joy like a bonfire
on a mountain, and tomorrow
and the next day make me shudder
equally with hope and fear.

~Marge Piercy
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I can't wait to go camping...