by Niles Baldwin
I wish for a different body. The body of a
good person. Wishing further for an interest
in hobbies, time wasters, but also make me
fuller. What if my heels never hurt? What if
there was something special about the way
people looked at me? What if that was all
because of how my face could look? I could go
on hikes. I could enjoy hikes. My eyes would
take in the view and it would all go straight
to my heart. I’d wash my face to wake
myself up. I’d want to be awake, widely so.
My sheets would only have to take the
shape I made them take when I fell asleep. If
I woke up in the darkness of the night I could
use my mind to use my thoughts to think
something that would send me back to all
my good dreams. While I’m at it I’d wish for
different other things. A different mirror, or a
mirror that showed me I was different. I give
a song to the shower and love how my voice
bounces back to me off the tile. I towel off,
but need it only to get dry, not to hide.
There’s something useful in wanting to be
something other than yourself. I want to be
better enough that I’d no longer have use for
that. Here I go waking up in the middle of
the night again, but it’s the me where the
sheets have been kicked by my feet so
much that they’re bunched at my knees and
my back is exposed and the tag that says
how to wash them is on my cheek and wet
in a way that I know I was chewing on it in
those dreams with how awful it feels to live
in the thirst of my mouth.
****
Niles Baldwin lives in Maine. His work can be found in places such as Heavy Feather Review, Green Mountains Review, Hunger Mountain, Soft Union, ExPat Press and elsewhere. His first book, a novel titled Her Favorite Cow, is forthcoming from Long Day Press.