That elves the size of phalanges disappear my things
That tomorrow, I will clean
That if I floss, I can decline dementia when my grandmother hands it to me
That what I write won't fade
That what I don't, I can forget
That I can hem myself inside my body with tattoos
That I have many selves in one body, who refer to themselves as 'we'
That we are all just floating through space
That names spell fate
That I control my life
by aligning it with ke Kaulana Mahina
That I will always figure out what to do
(a story from a former therapist that bears retelling)
That from the well of addiction, he could see me
looking down on him
and he loved me
That my body can recover from the bottom of that well
That our ancestors listen to us
That my ancestors emptied the city
when I wandered home at 4 am
sleeping on trains, stumbling through
neighborhoods without streetlights,
keeping me safe
That my partner will come home unscathed
That owning a home would mean we would always have a place to go
That my dead grandfather will have a hard time finding me if I trade in the car he approved
That someday I will listen to that voicemail without crying
That eyelash wishes come true
That my prescriptions make me unfit for the apocalypse
That the Earth will outlast us, no matter what
That there is a godly reason that this morning's egg had two yolks (as the flexitarian in me mouthed twins in horror)
That I would make a great mother
That motherhood would induce a nervous breakdown
That my parents did their best
That God loves all living things equally, dealing miracles
and massacres to plants and animals
alike
and only pleasant things bloom.
