I want to fill the house, like Alice, my arm
squeezed in the children's bedroom,
one leg splayed down the staircase.
I want to be a scare--
or scarce, littler than a flea
so no one (yes, no one) can see me.
I want to dance around
this way, hopping from petal to leaf,
so I can finally be. Be let be.
Or, I want to be paper thin,
so I can fold myself up,
climb inside an envelope,
shimmy into the mailbox,
travel in a truck, a plane, across miles and seas
to India, where I'll unfold,
let my creases relax,
and sit in silence in a temple
or in a crowded marketplace,
where there are so many people
I will be invisible as an individual.