As a child,
despite her parents' persistent claims
that piling her clothing on her sister's desk
was not cleaning her room,
she wished it was

for she had more important missions to accomplish
than mundane house chores. She could feel rhythm
pulsating between her house's walls and the powdery outdoors
and knew she must find some way to reach it,
though she was obstructed by applause and upholstery.

She continued a wistful life in search of
what she wanted, but she did not feel like building it
her body held the vague blueprints
to something better than glue and gum wrappers
but she did not have a logical form.

Remembering still
the way fire sometimes looked like people dancing,
she played with the rhythm in her mind
over and over, hearing it graze her tongue
but never leave her mouth.