I would rather say I have dementia
than depression, so I could still claim
center stage—blinded by an accent
light. If I bite the pink whistle yet
never blow, it’s my fault. Right? I know
you know my grown sons know
they were not planned. Every event
that’s saved my life has nearly killed me.
Honesta, in Latin, is a feminine noun
used rarely for Lady. When I drink
my iced mocha & type on my Mac
Book, I don’t contemplate godliness
or the twelve-year-old girl whose gods
cannot stop the bleeding or the man lying
in prayer before & after he enters her
ruined temple (as his God wants), hoping
her stench will subside. I’m so afraid
that what has infected the world has
no smell & leaves no trace or it does
but all I can think to say is that I do
not want this dress anymore, though
I can’t bear to let you wear it either.
