Friday, August 31, 2012


I'm not sure, really, what I would do. I might call him, or cry into my palms. I might whisper apologizes to my mother - but I don't know why I would apologize, maybe because I'm not the person she hoped for when she would bite my toes as a baby. Maybe she'd forgive me right at the last second. She might find it in her heart to remember the first day she met me.
Maybe I'd wallow in regret; steep in anxiety and metaphorically shake my fists.
Possibly, I would remember that one day, learning to ride a purple bike down a gravel alley, and my dad behind me being dad-like. I could then, with permission, remember crashing into the fence - as if to say, of course! this always happens.
I could jot down a list of everyone I haven't forgiven. Or, I suppose, I could try to forgive them.
Maybe I'd remember the pair of underwear that first slipped down my thighs with boy hands fumbling around... I remember those now.

It's possible that I would imagine an exploding universe; becoming undone but also apart.

It's possible.

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