Knox
I drift, shell-shocked, around
the hive of the parking lot, the sounds echoing
off the walls of my body.
But then all of it and more overwhelms me
and I sit on the rough blacktop, not caring
particularly if someone runs me over
because I already feel like someone did that
(mental note, if you ever see Sylvie again,
and you probably won’t, don’t describe this
sensation to her that way).
Now I’m thinking about how I have
the most terrible sort
of freedom; the milkweed kind
where you’re at the wind’s mercy
and no one cares
which way you go
or if you go at all.
Now I’m thinking about how prescient
Miss Mara’s prophecy was, that the eclipse
would be the portal to destiny, mine to be
broken and alone and limping my way
to the home of a woman who might not
want me either, if she’s even still
alive to want things.
And fear runs through me
like a fever.
But I know something that sounds
like the sort of thing a fortune
teller would tell you, but I’ve always
known somehow:
if my courage fails
me now, it will never survive
the hard, lonely nights to let me build
the life I yearn for.
This world will grind you up
if you’re not brave.
Maybe I’ll find my way
to my mamaw’s house.
Maybe I’ll have a home again
and a dog named Bilbo.
Maybe I’ll love another girl with Serious Eyebrows
for a whole week, then a month, then a year.
Maybe next time I won’t hurt her and drive
her away with the secret shame
of my history. Maybe that’s the first
thing I’ll reveal about myself
so I don’t trigger an avalanche
of heartache on myself like I’ve done now.
I choose uncertainty over the certainty of
the small existence that’s for those
who lack the backbone
to make their life their own.
There’s nothing left but to stand
and start walking and hope
for fair winds and for fortune
to smile on me.