Inside the house,
angled to the side of a prattling fan
making air waves,
she shivers down my elbow.
And she insists-
I only want to help.
Yet what has she done but
torture the reasons why I want to go back.
Back to the childhood I obliterated
but now return to, to know who
fathered me while I was a skinless
orphan.
It's unsettling for her because this period of time
is before her sensations....
before I questioned the fact that
we were living together
strictly unprepared and un-
faithful.
And she yells-
I knows what's best for you.
I know I'm not strangling myself
by turning around and filling
that memory again. In traveling,
in discovering, in giving it all, I hope
to let the man who raised me up
know I've never understood.
Never quite knew why he
didn't meet me home, when I was told
the news of my parent's catastropic
passing.
All is unknown....
And maybe, secretly,
it is this that deranges her.
I feel her
bony grasp hug too cautiously
on the knots of my back....
and I wonder what she'd do
if I tore from her treacherous
teeth,
and let go of being bitten
and wrestled for a breath.
And I respond-
Will you be hurt if
I take my heart away from you?
For I don't crave for you
to separate me from
my calling
anymore.
