i talk about being nice to spiders, and i don’t wish you happy birthday — Audrey Bowers
there is a green pebble on my windowsill.
five empty bottles on the floor beside me
and i’ll tell you where i got it.
i’ll tell you everything about my fascination with maps
or how important ants are
to the universe.
i’ll tell you how i never kill the bugs
that find themselves at my mercy, frantic
till their spindle-thin legs reach the concrete.
one shot of the wrong stuff
and i’ll tell you how fucked up you are.
i’ll even tell you where the scars came from if you ask nicely.
i think often of your arms
and of filling the empty spaces
between your fingers.
your mother was wrong and i want to hold you
until you believe it
i’ll tell you everything
but i won’t tell you that.