puzzle

if i knew

the sense i had as a child

of being alien, apart, unknowing,

thrust into a human body with no manual

or coaching, sent with only a fiery belly,

would only be magnified with age

would i have approached the puzzle differently?

the doorway of each day bursts open in my mouth

like a too-bright lime. memory feels less real

than dreams, which feel less real than stories

i can read. so i write my archives of selfhood

over & over, creating new flamboyant keys

for all the locks that stay grim & rusted shut

& all the hurts flowering into vivid wounds

& all the secrets, unseen, catching secret fires

in a jagged metal playground. if i knew as a child

that the hurts would never dim

instead transform with a fury 

little child-me had never seen

into exploding stars black holes

tightness incineration & ache

would i have loved the puzzle anyway, as i did?

would i still fail each day, in more flamboyant ways?

would i scrape the mango stone

with my crooked teeth & roving tongue

would i rub it around my gleeful face 

in secret ritual anyway?