I asked for good things

I asked for good things.

Not selfishly

Or out of reach.

Just normal.

American things.

Middle class caucasian things

Upwardly mobile of course.

They aren't bad things.

But my home went into foreclosure

While I had a good paying job.

My ovaries made eggs

But the lining wouldn't hold

And children got crossed off.

I paid enough

And was given two.

But I wanted a house full

And to stay home to teach them

But my womb closed up

And rotted

While I went stressed out to care for others' blessings

And they quietly and quickly grew

Outside of the size of my lap.

I prayed humbly for another

Or another two.

But no amount could allow my wishful control

No more courting life

No more joy of brightness

Infertile. Empty bed. Unproductive life.

So I asked for Africa...

And I asked for a child not my own

I asked for France

I asked for Haiti, asked for kingdoms and countries and 

To these,

You firmly touted:

No.

And I can wonder why and detest the strife

 For it is hard work to long so much

And I can eye the jones's happy life

Whose inside walls may be furniture and pictureless

But the outside is perfection

And fescued dreams

And I, like David,

Have glimpsed into their gardens.

It makes my coffee bitter

And then I growl at the kids.

And when I growl at the kids

The dog barks and I forget to water the lawn

And my house begins to crumble

Just a long the edges...

So I choose to offer up my questions

And let them hang like the caterpillars' who are yous...

Just floating and drifting into the air

Accepting soft rebukes:

Beware the sin of comparison.

As if I didn't know.

Simple, subtle.

Full of hesitance - 

I turn to the dead lot behind my house

And bury dreams in the dirt.

Knowing one day

Rains will come.