It’s always been in my nature to dig a pitfall and then entice someone
close to me into it.
I’m reminded of the time I dug many in the woods behind our house,
some more than six feet deep, and proceeded to try to catch
my family members and neighbors or anyone else who was annoying
me at the time.
Of course, I kind of dug myself in a hole there, neighbors got together,
police were called, etc.…and that was pretty much the end of that.
My jerk period had come to an end, or at least come to a temporary close.
So that now, when I think about why I did that, I can realize,
morbid as it may be,
I enjoyed putting myself on the other side of an unescapable problem
and asking myself dark questions like what would happen to you
if you fell into something where you were both, always nearby,
and yet unable to be found?
Would you be the kind of person who’d realize all you had to do was
dig your way out, or would you be the kind who gave into helplessness
and started digging at yourself until you were a kind of hole
you’d never be able to fill back?
Anyhow, horror movie that I was, I was clearly preparing for a great escape,
though when you’re 9 people just think you’re taking boy scouts
a little too far, and have parents who aren’t strict enough, which is
the perfect cover, and to be honest, I’m not sure which naivety is more
But these days, there’s always room for reconciliation and forgiveness,
since being a human, which is to say doomed to behave out of an innocence
that borders on pure evil, even with the best of intentions, brings with it
a call to sometimes strap myself down and refrain from say, pizza for
at least a night,
or at least until I can go two nights in a row without it, and maybe even try,
in the spirit of generosity, giving a piece to the sparrow with one eye who
climbs up my fire escape to the window in order to avoid getting further
sling-shotted or run over by my neighbors with homemade mopeds, who,
wishing to travel back in time, because everybody knows nobody’s
ever wanted to do that,
want to feel themselves turned inside out by their own hand,
or be able to go back to that 4-year-old moment in the kitchen
and be allowed to see what’s inside that breast cave in the rosemary chicken,
not because they still don’t know and still wish to out of some
unfulfilled childhood need,
but because that’s how their brain thinks when, like me when I was their age,
they simply want to be allowed to go inward, and come out when they,
and only they feel ready to, or like me now, will have to learn how to write
poems like this one that sort of enact falling into a pit and finding a way out.