by Nazra Hanif Lutfiana
as she walked on the quiet street she wished she belonged there: perhaps a tree could abduct her, perhaps an empty lot could swallow her, perhaps out of a sudden the frog statue would think her soul befitting to possess it—and perhaps then she would not need to come home. she would be a part of the scene, a complimentary element; and even though it would get boring after a while, she was sure she would come to accept such a fate.
she wondered if perhaps the big mess of tangly vines used to walk on two feet like her. she wondered if they had wished to vanish one day.
thus her prayer goes: make me stay here! i am a thing of light and my laughter will brighten this road. i shall be a roof of shades on top of the jamaican cherry trees, i shall extend my hand to gift early summer fruits to little girls. let me belong here! i shall have flowers grow on my fingertips, i shall have strong branches sprout from my limbs. i shall be the steady flow of water under the earth, i shall be the jolly buzz of wings when springtime comes. i would be anything. i would be anything.