There are days when I am weary
when I hang my life
beside my one good dress
and leave it next to my black boots
days when I want
to be anywhere but me
when I need to be the captain of a ship
or herding sheep
or on my way to Transylvania
those are the days I wonder
if there are egrets
sick and tired of being egrets
or if spiders ever close their eyes
and wish they were St. Bernards
if maybe there’s a goose somewhere
that longs to be a gorilla
at the end of such a day
when I open the closet door
and my boots are still pouting
and my dress sticks out its tongue
I give up and go to bed
and think how silly I have been
to wonder what an egret dreams
or about the hopes of spiders
…