You want what you’ve always wanted: to have never
read this
before in a story. To take the basket of sweet rolls and tea bags
and gallivant into the good deep woods.
Never mind the load, the gingham print, the picnic.
Trees are taller than all the men you left—and you like that,
the way no one is watching, the cardinals squatting
on both of your palms. Halfway there with a rose
in your hair, you’re singing for once because
no one is listening.
In the movie, you look luminous.
The pinecones double for microphones.
Real trees were wheeled in and
their roots hidden in the screen-safe.
(This is the part where the sun
becomes an alarm, set off.)
Enter Prince with your grandmother
over his shoulder. He’s snapping a fox-tail under his coat.
And even though you’re both actors, there’s a secret relief
in saying Yes. Settling into a split level cottage.
Pushing a tape in the VCR. You fall asleep
before it has ended.