Bucket List

I want to belong to one of those tribes that let anyone in,

on a street where no house looks like any other house

and our furniture is trunks and pillows, borrowed carpets.

Or in a double-wide in an abandoned trailer park where

coyotes and buzzards take turns as our security guards

and when it rains it’s special and you take notice, write it

on a calendar that has no other entries, not even years or dates.

I’d like to hunt wolves with golden eagles in Mongolia.

Simmer for an hour, stirring when you think of it, the house

will smell of shallots and ginger. Ice is such a luxury.

It will be a place where everyone speaks a language that

has never been translated, where I will never understand

what everyone is laughing at and it could not matter less.

Spoon it over memories to make them savory and safe.