The Poetry of Karla Huston
to think someone would write a poem
about me, want me to send photos,
whose colors aren't quite right,
not with these tiny creases around

my mouth, this tipsy eye and mud colored
hair—a picture that might inspire beauty
and soul. Today Oprah tells me that if I look
inside, I will find the person I am,

not teacher or mother or wife I am supposed to be.
All I have to do is follow ten simple steps
to spiritual awareness, buy a book,
and make thoughtful lists on good paper.

I could create a new story of myself even
when all my principal sees is a machine
who can keep a group of seniors quiet
even on Friday, during fifth hour,

in a room with a breathless ventilator
and a closed door. Still I want it,
a love poem, maybe,
with words hung on uneven lines

and the poet wanting me more
than a whole world of whiskey
or moon or envelopes
filled with ash and stone.
Previously published in the chapbook: Flight Patterns, winner of the 2003 Main Street Rag Chapbook Contest, 2003.