And so she says to the one,
Fuck you, fuck you, you motherfucker.
She knows more than she should know
about the present,
like where, what, who, why,
more than she wants to know,
about today, right now,
oh yes you better believe it.
and knowing brings grinding pain and throwing up
and knotted nerves that untangle slowly, 40 years worth,
As those nerves straighten and uncurl,
each movement so sharp
death would be welcome and so smooth.
Out of nowhere, the air rushes in, up her sleeves
they billow and she is bathed in wind, the wind
replacing lies with a sweetness in knowing
that beyond all of this,
beyond now and then, later really,
the clouds will take her, embrace her.
She will wander above
untethered from the chains of caring,
And she will see herself for the first time.
She will say to them all, Go to Hell.
This is how she will forgive herself.
