Time is a houseplant
We could start at the beginning
Of me
Not time
There is no time
Time is a construct
Let’s imagine
That I am the last witch
In a matriarchal lineage of witches
The sole heir
Of generations of witchery
and fuckery
To be fair
Many of us
You’d loathe to meet
In alleyways
Or gangways
And as you ponder
At the difference
Between gang and alley
You might also ponder
At the difference
Between dreams and reality
The things is:
If there were more space
between molecules
We’d not have
This wondrous sensation
Of touch
And while I might be
As they once said
Slightly touched
About being touched
I have both reveled in
And been repulsed with
All the things
I’ve been touched
By
The way
To my point
Through circuitous route
It might serve to mention
That not all need mention
For those you love
Who help you transition
From phase to phase
From cocoon
To crest
You are
Never
Fully formed
And should you lose sleep
Wondering
If your thoughts are real
Even though
You know they are
If only because
You thought to think them
Nevertheless
If I were more
Eloquent
I’d tell you the horrific story
Of my life
Causing you to weep
But I’ve grown rather fond of you
As one does a houseplant
It’s a complement
Still
I’m not competent
To care for myself
Like any decent person should
I scoff at
The indecency
Of my ineptitude
I’ve been working on it for years
Despite my fears
That the only thing it will bring me
Is back to here
I’d rather be nowhere
Or everywhere
At once
But I am here now
Wondering
If I should buy a houseplant