—for Peggy Rozga
To drink from a bottle of no return,
eat from a cake with no ingredient list.
Yet, childhood is so much trust and blind
experience. We never stop inquiring.
The body is our being and our undoing.
Our shoes too big, the bed too small,
the nipples one morning hardened,
next, the blood cramping along our legs.
I once sat in a hotel room with windows
in the ceiling, sky the only reference point
to stay grounded.
I once feared every teacup from a stranger might contain LSD.
In that fearful dream time,
people fell out of windows,
raced about raving,
dropped down rabbit holes.
The boy I dated, dead now, was eager
for cocaine hallucinations.
Sitting astride an armchair, as if on a toadstool,
I said, something else,
meaning let’s not talk about this.
Yes, he replied, misunderstanding,
something else.
The shock of his black hair over one eye,
so very straight for the bent world
we traveled through.
