1.
He smiles, ‘Not you—
all the other girls who think your thoughts, differently,’
when his joke responds to me,
my thoughts, my way.
Almost like he was
not listening
or like his wounds are so big that he’s
a little trigger-happy,
prone to lash out–
to think his thoughts, differently.
Or, like he is lying to me.
Reciting the Good
Guy Creed
that he never believed.
2.
I smile, ‘Of course,’ with the slow release of lips.
The bitter
aftertaste of important words swallowed.
3.
He breathily laughs,
puts his hand up to pacify.
My lips form a smile, like a
dog playing dead.
4.
Maybe if you touch my hand,
my hand will have touched yours
as though saying it accepts the apology
you don’t make.
5.
He joys his jokes
that tinkle like rebukes,
and I sit down,
nod a smile—
well-trained.
6.
But my eyebrows flash knowingly,
for a tiger provoked
decides.
Maybe walks inside.
She patronizes the cage.
7.
Urgent words wash down
so easily
chased by the lies in which we were raised.
8.
When I become a butterfly, I fly into outer space,
and then out of it through one chip
in a snow globe of glass.
Alphabet Ravine 