Knowing

You’ll never know me without a seizure at age four:
Absent eyes, ambulance ride, life: a closing door

No, it doesn't work like that:
We don’t lose ourselves in other people’s worlds
“We” is always “me” and you’ll never know

Sterile smell, fever state, the spirit’s sprawl across the floor
Brain that’s dyed, breakout of hives, grief for their first born

No, it doesn't work like that:
Experiences press heavy against life
I know that “we” is always “me” and you’ll never know

“Go toward the enormous absence of form that is sleep.”

No, we don't grow closer:
Weighed down, honest face from others we all hide
I know, “we” is always “me” and I’ll never know

You’ll never know me if you haven't known the sound
Of paramedics in the house, carrying your father down:
His slurry speech, his fearful eyes, half his face a drooping frown
Your fearful heart and your relief to find he’s still around

“Go toward the enormous absence of form that is sleep”

You’ll never know me if you haven't tasted tears
Over mother’s youngest sister and your best friend, it’s so clear:
At all times, in every moment, death blows in the air
She cries in soup, I lie awake knowing someday we’ll be there