Time is a houseplant

We could start at the beginning

Of me

Not time

There is no time

Time is a construct

Let’s imagine

That I am the last witch

In a matriarchal lineage of witches

The sole heir

Of generations of witchery

and fuckery

To be fair

Many of us

You’d loathe to meet

In alleyways

Or gangways

And as you ponder

At the difference

Between gang and alley

You might also ponder

At the difference

Between dreams and reality

The things is:

If there were more space

between molecules

We’d not have

This wondrous sensation

Of touch

And while I might be

As they once said

Slightly touched

About being touched

I have both reveled in

And been repulsed with

All the things

I’ve been touched

By

The way

To my point

Through circuitous route

It might serve to mention

That not all need mention

For those you love

Who help you transition

From phase to phase

From cocoon

To crest

You are

Never

Fully formed

And should you lose sleep

Wondering

If your thoughts are real

Even though

You know they are

If only because

You thought to think them

Nevertheless

If I were more

Eloquent

I’d tell you the horrific story

Of my life

Causing you to weep

But I’ve grown rather fond of you

As one does a houseplant

It’s a complement

Still

I’m not competent

To care for myself

Like any decent person should

I scoff at

The indecency

Of my ineptitude

I’ve been working on it for years

Despite my fears

That the only thing it will bring me

Is back to here

I’d rather be nowhere

Or everywhere

At once

But I am here now

Wondering

If I should buy a houseplant