I spoke to you
as if you were there.
That was the mistake -
not hope,
not weakness,
but an optical illusion.
You looked like people.
You sounded like family.
Every conversation shimmered
just enough
to keep me walking forward.
I was afraid
to get too close.
I was drawn
to the mirage
by heat,
seeking water
to quench a thirst.
I understand it now.
That’s why I returned
to the serpentarium
in Wilmington.
I placed my hand
against the glass
an inch from the flickering
tongue of a rattlesnake.
I’ve watched your face transform
into this form.
I approach the large glass
enclosure
a cobra rises
I watched your neck
expand -
trying to frighten me.
I don't flinch.
no rising pulse.
Spit -
as if you could help it.
Those closest to you
learned to move that way.
I know where you are.
Goodbye, mother,
I mean Kathy.
Goodbye, father,
I mean Bruce.
Goodbye, sister.
Goodbye Carrie.
You don’t need titles anymore.
Titles belong to things that hold
meaning.
You are contained,
I know where you are
finally located. I understand
why I was drawn here…
to see that I did
not
have to
be afraid.
