Last Thursday I spoke all my normal concerns
once again to the air surrounding my ribs,
to the walls surrounding my bed in time,
to the styrofoam packing lodged in my throat,
and it’s always the same hot result,
blooming out of my ears:
“I think I don’t know about this love business,
I think there’s something they’re not telling us.
I think in the world of statistics it doesn’t make sense.”
I smash it between two hands
and I refuse to play.
I said to the dust,”What’s gonna happen to all of my friends
when they figure out their actual options-”
and God himself came down and said,
“Why you gotta be so negative?”
I said, “You know as well as I that hearts aren’t bags
we put our crayons in,
people aren’t safes we put our gold watches in,
but our wisdom memory is a certain amount of gigs
that revolves out the stuff we don’t need anymore
and I know that I’ve never loved.
And he put his fingers on his temples
and did his best Billy Crystal and said,
“So what? So what? So what if you’re right,
if I told you that no one’s destined to love
and you can’t because you’ll never be perfect?
I made you an omelet and caterpillars,
you got strong ankles and you like some songs
and children are still gonna die no matter what you do,
but I guarantee not one will survive by your efforts
to eat pizza while having sex.”
And I said, “Whoa, calm down, I get it, jeez,
but I feel like the only one,
and it’s tough when you don’t ever see it
on the cover of a magazine,
you don’t ever see it in the corners
of your friends’ lonely eyes,
you don’t ever hear it in church
when there’s people in the front row kissing,
people onstage getting married,
people in single ladies’ youth groups
braiding their hair ’til they meet “the one.”
And he said, “You don’t have to worry about that.
You’re never gonna find it.”
And then he left.
And today I am the Queen.