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Acquiescence
Do you know
how to suffer well
do you break your teeth
with it
do you bury words
like a mortician
who owns the only graveyard
in town
do you pretend
you can create distance
between the disembodied hand
that reaches for you
in a dark room
do you know how
to reassemble
broken bones
and pretend
it’s a structure of mercy
do you tell strangers
you’re fine
when they stare at you
in the grocery store
do you tuck in
your swollen mouth
do you understand
why your arteries
carry blood
away from a heart
sometimes at night
I put an abacus in my bed
and try to count the beatings
this body endured
I still don’t know
if they broke my spirit
November Stroll
An evening walk with my grandson
he asks me questions about leaves
their orange and red shades
he wants to know why they fall off the trees
I tell him we can look it up
when we get home
I accidentally step on a small stone
and almost falter
and wonder how I made it this far
now with a cane in one hand
and a small satchel at my hip
I feel like I’ve always been a grandparent
always had someone older
quietly walking next to me
answering questions about the moon
telling me how to stay safe
telling me how long
to stay in the closet in my room
telling me if I’m quiet enough
someday I will escape
promising me
that one day
no one will put their hands
around my neck
ever again
I’ve held that child
invisible though she was
until she could finally walk
in the cadence of my shifting bones
with her unbraided hair
and her unclenched hand
The Short Answer
is not subservient
to the long answer
the short answer
has been shaved down
with a thousand
iterations
of a story you
need to forget
the long answer
involves
the wide mouth of a river
you’ve never seen
the long answer
makes you clear your throat
before you speak
I turn away
from all the words
and irrational thoughts
I don’t understand
I sit down at an empty desk
take out my old maps
and study again
the secret pathways
back to myself
I sit on an old wooden chair
it wobbles beneath me
like a question
unanswered
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