because i needed to be useful i made myself small
Kristin Lueke
whatever you’re thinking, no.
smaller than that. smaller still
than a broom or a bible, a hook
to hang a hang-up. i do clean,
i comfort. open any door i can.
now i need permission or a place
to lay my head a moment
in the middle of the day.
can you imagine? an hour
to do nothing. count chickens,
blessings, fucks left to give,
stretch the body long, let
the body do the the living.
keep me quiet, just a moment.
however long it lasts.
smaller than that. smaller still
than a broom or a bible, a hook
to hang a hang-up. i do clean,
i comfort. open any door i can.
now i need permission or a place
to lay my head a moment
in the middle of the day.
can you imagine? an hour
to do nothing. count chickens,
blessings, fucks left to give,
stretch the body long, let
the body do the the living.
keep me quiet, just a moment.
however long it lasts.
Kristin Lueke is a Chicana poet living in northern New Mexico. She is the author of the chapbook (in)different math, published by Dancing Girl Press. Her work’s appeared in Wildness, HAD, the Acentos Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Hooligan Magazine, the Santa Fe Reporter and elsewhere.
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