For so long I cut back
my own branches
twigs and leaves
Filling my being with you.
Your being totally filled
until I was just clinging
Saran Wrap
responding to you.
My own garden
left unattended.
I'm having to scratch around
in my gravel
looking for a seed of my own
I can water and let grow.

You never asked this of me -
I did it on my own.
Until now, when you ask me
What are you doing -
I see only a void in me
with tears of homesick
reflecting you,
running down the ridges.
I am still hollow
with just thoughts
and longings of you
the only file.
I open empty bureaus
in cabinets inside me
where only mice live.
You have a universe
and energy that makes it run.

Are my tears transition -or magic.
Maybe someday I won't be
just a crying toddler anymore
but a grown woman.
When you ask me what are you doing
I'll be able to show you treasures.
You'll enjoy the breeze
and music my universe will make.
I won't be just a beggar outside your gate Rattling a tin cup for attention.