perfect lines

I didn’t know how it would go,
being perfect and
skipping everything in between,
sleeping without wrinkling the sheets,
being precise when I answered questions,
and saying “I’m sorry” when you
asked me why I’d got up and left 

so fast.

I expected Iguazu Falls
raining down at my doorsteps
asking me why I hadn’t gotten everything
right up until now,
why I hadn’t been the person,
my mother always thought I’d be.

But I was trying,
wearing pearls around my neck like a collar,
speaking in tongues,
and wrapping my wrists in silver,
gold, shiny like I meant business,
shiny like I was making more
than my weight

in salt.

So, left wondering,
skittering across the stoop
the water from a million waterfalls
reminded me to be sure
I kept at, 
perfect lines turn into perfect shapes,
no more of this monkeying around
with what the whole world 
had crafted me to be.

2 years ago | Permalink