We’re all bald

that is, under these soft hides we call skin. plain hard skull storing our slimy veiny minds.

we can’t laugh without exposing the bones: our yellowing teeth. slowly decaying with age falling out in death. we can’t cry without exposing the tears: glimmering corneas, reflective fluids extracted from behind eyes. flooding out when we squeeze blinks, staining our cheeks, outwards. we can’t speak without exposing the tongue: fleshy and wet pinkness. flicking, slippery, gluttonous emissions at each pronunciation.

our true selves, hidden by the layers of biology. our true selves, evolved beyond our realization: covering the ugliness we need to show when we forget that we must.

She was excited, to see me again

I’m on the outside. I’m outside of my body, when I hear.

I’m screaming, I’m crying, “No. No! You’re lying! No!

Why should I trust your confession? Why do I have to listen to my pain?

Why did I have to be the one to pick up the phone?

She used to take me places around town. The little ma and pa stores, Her tiny church.

There, she’d introduce me as Izzy. She always liked that name more than my real one.

I don’t think I ever asked her why.

I was supposed to see her again over the summer, Sleep in my small bed in her trailer, In the room she said was mine.

The small tv would be loud into the night, Dinner was at 4, And Charlie, her dog, As fat as ever. She was excited, to see me again.

I remember long evenings on her porch, Listening to wind chimes singing against the quiet country stillness, Of a simpler world.

Back when we’d eat oatmeal creampies, one after the other. Back when I’d swing on her swinging chair, And watch her whistle over tomatoes in her garden.

I was excited, to see her again.

That day when the hospital called, Telling me she was rushed in, I knew. I just knew.

My sister said she’d be fine, My mother rushed out to meet her there.

But I knew she was gone, God told me. I knew.

But, she was so excited to see me again.