I started collecting to-want lists last year—my spin on to-do lists that Are less about doing and more about daydreaming.

 

 

XIX.

actual to-want lists, knowing what I want
to work with: hands, meaning, a kindness
the belief in: capability
to believe in: anything.
to stop looking up roman numerals charts
to start speaking Japanese (quietly, I am speechless)
And a camp stove
 

XVIII.

literal: coffee grinder. broom
figurative: all ten toes
in-between: unquestionable love
 

XVII.

mornings: light roast
for more caffeine
dark roast
for more taste.
ski pass / salary pay / sane president
to stop naming hurricanes
humanizing unnecessary death.
Burst beautifully, my red aspens!
anything deciduous in the crumbly light of autumn

XVI.

one more week , or week-
end adieus and foreign languages
furnished apartments, squeezed
acetaldehyde. cut the booze
add whole milk to cherry coffee
 

XV.

outside of sleep but with rest,
IT band staying loose forever, 
losing nothing anymore.
souvenirs from Alaska
living inside of bed curtains
traveling to the woods
 

XIV. 

a kitchen table
rungs like tree wire
and plastic gold
 

XIII.

for apartment: washer dryer, baby grand piano
swiffer wet mop and a drain tub
for the work week: check, check, home-cooked
pasta sauce, home-grown fertilizer
for the rest: elasticity, felicity, mountains
 

XII.

upside down sex
inside out conversations
over-brewed coffee &
underdressed salads
 

XI.

what you're not doing is what
I'm not: rushing, 7 hours of sleep
packed bowl and suitcases
 

X.

frozen bananas, hot coffee, w/o a tooth ache
six miles on a Monday, tempo, w/o tight IT
wires/new lightbulb/ , more stamps/faster USPS
Believing in the beauty of flight
 

IX. 

to-go coffee in for-here cups
to cup whatever starlight from new york into hands
orions belt, everything studded with wood chips
airhead bites, sea-salt sugar cubes, bodies of
anything being, deep in it
 

VIII. 

sweaters without sleeves
coffee with the sleeve
maps. all paper things,
baking sheets.
to finish the blanket made of blue yarn.
reconciliation and healing 

VII. 

a road trip: austin to new orleans to savannah
the tent with no fly, the stars, the sturdy mattress pad
wishing/hopeful/believing things do come together
new york as impermanent, less duct tape, more nails

VI.

coffee and a cigarette on a side porch
no consequences for actions

V.

a city sight-seeing bus
fresh basil/planting know-hows/a windowsill with sun
a city with sights I want to see
gardens, forests, fields of fire

IV.

to deeply connect with every song that exists on earth
(whistle through my teeth, worn hiking boots)
to sew. to mend. to build blankets
An Easy Summer

III.

clarity, violins and steel drums
to finish the japanese book about the sheep
to go to japan, and everywhere else
a 15 mile saturday run and trail head
spring pollen/long lawns/large backpacks

II.

a good conversation. a thick rug. strong, sugary coffee
spring
(outside beers/strappy sandals/dog-watching)
a plan or the spirit to not have one
a money clip. healthy nails
trust & forgiveness

I.

Seasons and associations:
(burning wood/ moments-after-the-storm/ fresh cut grass/ piles of leaves)
Passport and airplane gloves
Speakers and headphones
Corkscrew
Pair of skis
Hope. adaptability