What I Know
Things I know—deep down to be true
Like, for example, some caterpillars are poisonous and
according to my mother, I could die if I touched one,
her hands shushing me away from each
plump, juicy, itchy crawler, when I was little,
and secretly in the back garden I would
grab at them and giggle as they crawled
up, down, in, out, between the trail of stars through my arms,
But now, even when I pass by a green, small
suction cupped crawler, I worry about
aposematic coloration and I step away,
silently, only pausing,
sometimes if I have time
—for I am a busy women—
to marvel at the anatomy of it all.
I also know, for certain,
that I need to stop falling in
and out and in and out and in and out of love
and I am most certain of this at night
when the stage curtains close before me and
I am not the star, but the foundation,
and I know—I've always known that
lies sting and hurt and
I still--even now, believe them.
A naive, stupid, pathetic girl,
falling for the most cliché of them all
'I love you' but it still
still hurts no matter how you pull
the band-aid off, leaving a stinging mark,
In that back garden when a bee stung me
I have learned to avoid black and yellow
because they too leave a sting,
but if I am careful, it stays in the past,
but love, this 'love' is past
present future and I have not yet learned to
avoid your honey smothered words,
I know also that calendars do not contain
enough spaces because time intercepts all.
I despise physics so much,
the mere sight of it makes me faint and
that is why I write poetry and
sit by the window drinking in my words,
mainly hot chocolate, but sometimes my words,
but together, gravity is the only thing that binds us together,
currently, and that-that is the very thing that worries me
and the truths, seems so uncertain.
Newton’s first law—the basis of physics
for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
poem action,
reaction uncertainty.
But it’s okay because one certainty remains
I am.
Strong.
Independent.
Capable.
Beautiful.
Flawless.
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