it isn’t
inspired by W. Stafford’s It Is it is not so much the tremulous What as it is the inevitable When that stops my blood. it is bad enough that things happen, but then, when i cut them open and reasons are revealed, beating vigorously, that’s when scars form like knuckles on my face. apologies—i should be more positive, in time my center will be hollow. this is what i’ll work with. i (and you) recycled dutifully our words, the words behind our words the skirts and panties around our words. how a phrase can so easily sit in a chair, explaining everything! how its beginning and its end curl verblessly from backrest to seat to scratched leg. words that fall around a leg, syllables contract, relax. we bend our words, our legs, stepping slowly.
