I want to be
the soft padding of bare feet
on a bare floor
in the afternoon.

Or the knotted up-on-top-of-head hair
of a braless woman
who couldn’t care—
doesn’t give two shits about it all.
Except her pen.

And maybe her man.
Hot damn.
Her beautiful
hardworking man—
who doesn’t understand
but loves
does he love her.

I want
to be what spills over—
spills over the arms of an old armchair—
long, languid limbs with a light dusting of hair—
(the kind that refuse to be kept in)
slung together with sinews and skin
and opaque prose.

I want to be
those eyes stained dark.
The kind that seem to hover above
a passing remark
about “the world”

and nonchalantly carry a stained,
cracked cup
ringed black from perpetual coffee. no cream.

I want to be
thick with thought.

I want to be
dark laughter
with a purpose.

And I want to know that I am.

Emily M. Trask is a poet and theatre artist originally from Wisconsin. She holds a BA in Literature and Theatre from Grinnell College, and an MFA in Acting from Yale University’s School of Drama. As an actress, she has appeared on stage and screen across the country, from the Lincoln Center Theater in New York City to the Tony Award-winning Alley Theatre in Texas, where she is currently a resident company member. Recent poetry has appeared in The Summerset Review.