2006-04-13T03:30:00.000-07:00

My dear Princess Elizabeth,
I could be picture perfect
I could cross all my tees
I could say everything right
In bright pink capital letters
I could ask engaging questions
To keep you on your toes
I could take an hour getting ready for you
And write a report on every book and film
Enchant you with my articulate words
Carefully evaluating each theme, theory, metaphor
To impress my most beloved

But I’d rather wear olive green and brown
I’d rather drink stormy blue water
I’d rather leave out those quotation marks
And say everything originally
Id rather not finish my sentences correctly
And let the thought drift
Allowing phrases to become mysterious
Through inconsistent rhetoric
Big G is my enemy when it conspires to deflate
Deep notions which can’t be dictated
By rules

Id rather not play these mind games
That stem from jealousy, confusion, love
But I do all the time

Id rather not be too witty
And cleverly try to charm the daylights out of you
Id rather make you laugh hysterically
With my silly dance at midnight

Id rather not be your spokeswoman
Id rather you be mine
Id rather we paint a picture together
Of broken committed love

Id rather not try to be an expert
About things that tear my heart apart
Id rather read and respond
Id rather not obsess and discuss about the tragedies
Over the paper, coffee and a full nutritious meal
Id rather be hungry
And Id rather be there
In my own search out of exile

Id rather not think too much all the time
Whenever I am in your presence
Id rather sip my tea with marie
pretend I am not staring at you
and secretly watch your fascinating
pounding heart
pace about the room

Id rather not buy a house
Id rather sleep under the stars
in a camp where too many children are forced to live
Id rather not narrate wonderful tales
And the fruit of my experiences
And romanticize the suffering
Id rather just know the heart ache
stumble through my words,
get lonely and find my place
And let it be messy and meaningful

Id rather not be classy
And end up walking with grace
Id rather not display pictures
That hold a beautiful smile and life together
But cut and paste a collage that reveals
The face and arms of my beloved

Id rather not be the perfect supporter
Id rather be chased on my adventures
Agonizing and painful
Yet totally worth it at the end

I’d rather watch my weight after I lose it all
Id rather Forget my lunch when I climb that tree
And eat its fruit instead (unless their pine cones)

Id rather not brag about my lentil curry
Although my friend Rev Mrs Elton, said it was quite good,
I’d rather not declare how “global” I’ve become
Following a new bend for the sake of a Bono trend
(although HE is for real) talk about how concerned I am
but get up the next morning
In the same bed, same job, same salary
While others still cant even get out of bed

Id rather not act intelligent and well read
And frame compassionate moments
For others to clap their hands
Id rather go unnoticed and
fly a kite in Kabul
and hold forgotten little sheep
without any photos

Id rather listen to
Robert Nastor Marley and Jubilee
And dance with my bohemian buddies
Till seattle lights finally fade

Id rather marry the Palestinian
Who grew up in Addis
The passionate environmentalist, the rugby player
Who also knew how to embroider
And we’d move to the northern woods,
Sahara sands, and the Serengeti.

Or if Aragorn proposed, I swear I would accept.

I’d rather put on my carpenter belt
Hike up that ladder
And get stung by a bee
Instead of fixin a glass of lemonade,
ice included
And merely applaud your chivalrous efforts, every moment

Although, if every once in awhile you hurl yourself
into the bushes for something sweet
your trophy would be my laughter and
Undoubtedly my heart.

Id rather play hard and come back
With bruised knees and lost nails
With the memory of you jumping wildly
Sprayed by that hose like a kid
Than put on some sweet smelling lotion
And post you on a blog

Id rather not declare my gifts
Cause I don’t know how
I can only live my interests before I define them

I’d rather not lather up my lashes in the morning
Put on some dangling beauties
Because as soon as I hop on my mountain bike
Ill get wonderfully dirty again
Within seconds once I see those wonderful little creatures

But for you,
I may try to look nice
many times

Id rather be Franciscan
If it means I could silently reflect
upon singing trees
Id rather be Anglican
If I could hum all the liturgy
And absorb the incense of God
Id rather speak in tongues
And fall to the ground
If the Spirit would rain down on me
Id rather go to Baghdad,
Be a peace activist
scared to death like Jesus was
Id rather do it because I love the children and
all those who are falsely called my enemies
Not because its all going to pan out in easy theory
For love can’t be objectified
But personified
In an embrace of pain and fire of hope
As its witness in the darkness
I don’t care about being a hero or a fool
Id rather give it up
And know real love and suffering now
And understand the impact later

Id rather not be too fatalistic
Although I seem to be grounded in reality
dimness and death
Id rather still use my imagination
Birthed in the beautiful things about life
And envision what more there could be

Id rather be doing the work
You asked me to do
Instead of writing another epic poem

Id rather not be a procrastinator
Id rather not be a perfectionist
Id rather have three months off
Go to the beach and finish
All my creative writing projects
Sitting in my head for the last two years

My dearest Princess Elizabeth
Id rather not analyze this poem too much
And find out its literary theory
If I cared what that meant
Had been emancipated by
An emotionally stable yet
Uncontrollably feeling artist
Named Jo.

Laments