Dear Hairless Naomi,
I’m just made of smoke today,
so don’t be surprised if these words
feel wispy. Don’t be surprised
if some of them shift in time
with the ceiling fan on the lowest
setting, or drift out of the vents.
I’ve got a dream I’ve been trying
to get back to, so I’m going to try
to do that now, here, together with you.
Since you don’t have any hair,
I’ll explain it slow & soft, & you
might be able to feel my smoke
across yr various hairlessnesses,
or maybe you won’t. It’s hard
to say with smoke.
The dream had me inside the beating
chest of a dog, a healthy one
who knew where all of his bones were,
which is saying something because
even I don’t know that.
The walls were red & pink & all
my favorite colors & they beat in
on me sometimes like I was some
blood-thing. Like I had places to go.
I was carrying a spear I didn’t want
to hurt her with (the dog I mean)
but the spear was too long for the heart.
Can you see where this is going?
Because as those muscles got
torn & shredded I started to get scared
not just because the dog seemed so
nice & smart, but also scared that
this was some kind of a metaphor.
Turns out it wasn’t though, Hairless.
Turns out my dog died that night.
Turns out it was his heart that got
all torn up like the time he got into
the picnic basket & used every one
of his teeth on our juice boxes.
Just like that.
But the thing that worries me,
the real problem, was that the vet
showed me another thing they found
in there. Inside the dog when they
we’re trying to save him, to see if he
could even be saved. Deep in there
they found a tiny person.
A little me. She looked just like me.
Looked just like me but dead.
All swollen up with bee stings.
We can only take so many
steps toward what we want
before it has to come to us, Hairless N.
It has to be that way.
Hope this finds you well,