I want some loneliness justified by my location.
I want to purchase a piece of the earth.
I want to be in on that giant joke.
I want a fence around my family.
I want the burden of aging infrastructure.
The urge to complain about all the things
I own. I want the place to look overgrown.
Like, potted plants in the bathroom.
Big buxom banana leaves. Ferns.
I want an alarm. I want to love a place
so much I install a siren.
I want a gut renovation.
Maintain some original details
without all the darkness and wasted space.
I want some land. I want the earth
and the sky above it.
I want the mineral rights, the air rights.
I want the right to take legal action
if someone encroaches on my boundaries.
I want to be right when I say
this whole damn thing is mine.
Mary Block recently moved home to Miami after an 18-year sojourn in the northeast. Her poems have been featured in RHINO, Nimrod Journal, Sonora Review, Rattle, and Conduit, among other publications. She is a graduate of New York University's Creative Writing Program, a 2012 finalist for the Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation, and a Pushcart Prize nominee.