Want

-Katherine Gotthardt

What I really want is this:
to go back to the time on the front lawn,
worn blanket on crabgrass and wildflowers,
baby dolls and tea sets and nothing, 
nothing more than ants to worry about.

Not that my daughter might have cancer.
Or her addict ex-boyfriend could come back to kill her.
Not that my son has no one to watch him 
once we have passed. No, I’d prefer to freeze

the moments when my dog licks my nose,
or I feel the fur on my husband’s rising chest,
to only think of one thing at once.

I want to know I can do my job well, 
burn my student loans, seek justice,
eat when I am hungry, stop when I am full,
sleep without needing muscle relaxers,
walk in the woods and listen to birdcalls,
buy my brother health insurance, 
believe at least a little
we will not both die too young like our mother. 

I want to be a better Buddhist, to quit 
the craving, the whirlpool of want 
that sucks everything under the churn.

I want to focus, like I do when I’m writing –
really writing – and do only that. 

I want to stop wanting. Stop 
breathing water. Stop clawing
frantically at the layers 
gathered on the ocean floor.

We are not shellfish.