to know
I'm happy
until—afterward
when things are
worse?
She's looking at me now
as if
she's seeing
I can never actually tell her
everything a CAT scan could.
You must
begin again,
she's saying. Always again, only
each time, try to start
a little sooner.
Bullshit. I start to say
that ignoring things
doesn't sound a lot different
to me than ignorance.
But the difference, now
I can
finally hear
while I'm still talking, is
one of those things
always seems like
some valuable-but-
hard to use compliment—it's
a silver dollar
being tossed to me
out on the street
by a stranger
who looks
and speaks exactly like me
just for mumbling
Agnus Dei,
qui tollis peccata mundi,
miserere nobis—
other thing
just feels
obligatory.
