Don't Tell Me

I made the shape of a small circle with my hands
And placed it to my chest.
Then, I turned to you.
My soul, I said, wears a red jacket
And will come to you from inside here.
You can call it and talk to it if you want.
It knows when and how to come back home.
Go ahead. Try it.

You let your eyes drift to my forehead,
Pulled be close with a tight, white-hand grip,
Then lifted my t-shirt
Tapping me three times in the center of my chest.
These are bones and this is skin and that’s the end.
No, it really works, I said
You said, I’m reading dear.
I paused.
Do you think that I am skin wrapping bones and no more?
Yes dear.

Standing two feet from you
I watched you read.
Yellow light made a ring on the pages of your book.
When two green butterflies
Tumbled airborne from behind my ears.
They flew to you and lit your hair with green and orange.
I had no advice to give you.
Out of love for you I said in my inside voice -

You will have to do the best you can
With what you have.

July 13, 2001