One night I stepped outside my life,
My casita, my blonde wig, my breasts,
my hopes, my scars, my everything,
To look up the stars (sorry, but it’s true).
There were aliens spaceships everywhere;
They looked like stars but moved erratically.
The whole night sky was full of light.
After a few minutes, I realized they weren’t
Doing anything new, and my phone
Takes shitty pictures in the dark, so I came back in
To your snoring, to your man hands by your side,
To your practical underwear and your Star Wars t-shirt.
The blankets were too heavy on top of me
And the darkness a little too dark. Maybe
It’s too late for us, I thought. Too late
For a Molger shelf unit in birch, a plant wall,
A kallax nightstand, a LACK: Ikea doesn’t
Want us. It’s too late for career ladders, for
Expensive tools, homeopathic anything,
For shiny cars, for yoga-cations, Bed, Bath and Beyond,
For Christmas cards, for christenings, for statement
Necklaces, for Italian leather shoes-
We get slim can slits on our fingers, dollar store
Dishsoap, what we deserve:
Shards of hard Irish Spring, unwaxed floss,
This internet we stole.
Two weeks later I had a dream I was abducted.
I woke up curious, not afraid.
I woke up wanting to drive up up up
To Taos where I have trouble breathing,
Where there is one vegan restaurant
And beets shining up on every plate.