Anemone, you told me, and then
hyacinth, orchid, peony;
like any parent you wanted me to know the names
of things; to be informed.
"Flowers!" I answered, bored.
I was more interested in
the holes left by my ruthless bouquets.
Already I was not meant for your world.
We can blame the man, because it's easy.
Who doesn't blame men, wanting more than they deserve:
wanting something bright against their endless darkness
a pretty girl with a wilted bunch of flowers;
wanting for a moment to put out his hand
and touch something that didn't belong to him.
But I also took what didn't belong to me.
I wasn't hungry and I wasn't really curious and
I wasn't even exactly bored.
I tasted the bitter red juice and
I was fiercely happy.
I still am.
Mother! to the extent I am responsible
for your unhappiness, I am sorry.
But you would not have wanted me in your world
always
you would not have wanted me to stay with you
anyway.
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