by Jennifer Jean
What if I don’t run from? Start
and start at my darkness, but stay? Stare
till I see pebbles?
The gum wad gooing? What if?
Is that more or less winter?
Is more or less winter good or bad? Maybe
this year I’m lit, but feel my feeling
of change? Of no change? Of keeping
my chucklings alive—nurturing talent, nutrition, the right mate
dance? That’d be a new year!
It’s almost Lunar New Year. And, I am
twitch twitching. Out of
I should have been loved perfectly.
I used to think I was psychic,
specially so. I know now—
people read me. They
move on from
their reactions and into their lives.
When they’re surprised I’m alive,
it means I once chose
path—like Extreme Rafting,
Extreme Climbing. Like trying control.
But, I’m no victim of their bad
prognostications. No beaver dentes here.
They’re always right! No porcu-prickle here.
them but their reactions save lives. If I listen—my life.
I just can’t stand
their fear. Twitchy twitch.
Their hairless, lost chuckling. It’s too much
like mine. We all know
possible futures. We do what we can.
Sweep the burrow—and, when it’s a mess, sweep it
indefinitely. Maybe I stand
in this sun. No running from.
That’s control. That’s the future. That’s rage
beneath the shadow—at having to be
the Grown-up. That’s: rage the ground.
I’ll look at it. Solid. Boring.
Look at it. Control. The rest is all
a skunk life.
Jennifer Jean is author of the poetry collection, The Fool (2013). Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in: Poetry Magazine, Waxwing Journal, Rattle Magazine, Green Mountains Review, and more. Jennifer is Managing Editor of Talking Writing Magazine, Co-director of Morning Garden Artists Retreats, and she teaches Free2Write poetry workshops to sex-trafficking survivors.