Wild Roof Journal: two poems

not a perfect person

i have been ashamed. for the way i crave

a little violence. how even now, surrounded

by prayer plant, thriving, i worry what i'll miss

when i'm gone. i worry that i worry just to prove

that i care, that i want, knowing what i do

about wanting—its making & deliberate

dissatisfaction—nearly nothing, enough

to know better by now. still i want

quiet. kindness. an end that comes gently.

call me a clown, i’d like to be loved.

just not too much. lord, let me never

be needed. i’d like my first rodeo back—

the day i learned about mutton-busting, inhaled

deep sweet shit & earth, corn ground & fried,

watched sideways, through sun-struck braid

of breathing bodies, mothers whose lives

i know nothing about gripping their children

how a child grips small fistfuls of wool,

told to hold on—always, in the end, helplessly.

& i, too, helpless but to marvel a minute

at the man who first built a fence around horses.

forgive me. i laughed when they fell.

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not a perfect person

say—the angels were vengeful, also accurate.

i hot-hand my psalms. kneel at the antler

& the antler were a room. a body would listen,

my enemy fell. i knew what to yodle

& you dreamt what you mean. say we heard

a thinking buffalo. your thoughts were loudly

read aloud. you slept through the week & changed

your heart, i changed my middle name.

the better were the devil, yet i know a softer nail.

different loved to gamble. grace was just a word.

every whisper box gets emptied & i haven’t any tea.

say i could have a moment to gather my particles

while the road runs out to kill you. say i wore the weather

& the weather turned mean. say i said if i’m tired—

you told me you’re tired. say i believe you.

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originally published Spring 2026