Sometimes, a confession.
This hour I tell things in confidence;
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
William Carlos Williams might begin
This is just to say
I have eaten / the plums
But we might just as easily begin
This is just to say
I lied and said / I heard the voices
When really I didn’t.
In a dream I had I was afraid but told you anyway
the thing I am about to tell you now. / I am afraid.
But sometimes there is a sort of pleasure in fear.
Here’s something true:
When I was thirteen, a searing ache
filled my gut. It escaped medical diagnosis.
I missed school. I drank chalk and lay
very still while they photographed
my stomach. An IV dripped
radioactive dye while I lay
on an X-ray table. It tasted
like a cheap spoon. I collected
urine in a gallon jug. I gave
blood. And more.
I still don’t know if the pain was real.
Most of the time, I suspect
it wasn’t.
This is just to say
Forgive me