and bid on the mask
of the wolves
someone else won
because I was too busy
being sucked into the vortex
of wolf magic
to bring my eye contact
to the auctioneer
The blood blister
under my skin
just shy of my right
I don’t understand
I noticed it when I was fourteen
It had already been there
a while and I just wondered
if it was an eternal bloodstain
Now it’s gone
I’m worried about where
it may show up next
Did it transfer to someone
else or am I about to experience
a terrible bloody accident?
Am I about to become Luke?
Not the cool-hand one, I mean
Luke of the light saber and cloak
Do I need a witness?
Shouldn’t I be enough
to know my own plot twist?
If we reached paradise
would we run away?
You know you like to complain.
My roommate used to say,
Go to bed, it’ll look better in the morning.
Why is that?
I cried once today for a friend
whose dad is not-so-slowly dying
and cried again tonight for a character
grieving the loss of a wife on TV.
Do we cry easier, having cried once?
Is that part of being human?
Don’t tell me it’s just me.
The fount of eternal tears has opened.
If I sleep, the flower closes up against the dark.
The fountain closes for business.
The guards shoo out the lingering emotions
and shutter up the park for the night.
Eventually the guards cement the entrances
and I have another day to break down
the obstruction before tears, and once again,
when it falls, it crumbles. Tears stampede freely.
I remember Paul saying, I too am a man.
And so I add, I am a woman. I am human.
I cry with my friends. I cry for the loss of life.
I cry for what might have been and what might be.