Paradise

That story I told about suffering

Was a lie. I never wandered

The woods with a box of matches.

Truth is I was born in the forest,

And there, I ran the weather.

Deer left apples in my hand, so

I didn’t think to cook the deer.

The secret of my life was

My life, hair falling past my neck,

Beyond my back. I can’t say

The nights grew cold, but Lord,

I was bored. What words I spoke

I yawned. And while I claimed

To have walked away hearing a voice

Or a fiddle, that too is untrue.

When a man leaves, he leaves looking

For more languages than there are

Tongues. When a boy leaves, we

Call him a man. You know that story

As well as you know my smile, how

It fit my face once I cut each tooth

In your well-wrought world, right

Along with this scar and this

One and this one and this…