begin long before you hear them and gain speed and come out of the same place as other words. They should have their own place to come from, the elbow perhaps, since elbows look funny and never weep. Why are you proud of me? I said goodbye to you forty times. I see your point. That is an achievement unto itself. My mom wants me to write a goodbye poem. It should fit inside a card and use the phrase, “You are one powerful lady.” There is nothing powerful about me though you might think so from the way I spit. I don’t want to say goodbye to you anymore. I heard the first wave was an accident. It happened in the Cave of the Hands in Santa Cruz. The four of them were drinking and someone killed a wild boar and someone else said, “Hey look, I put my hand in it. Saying goodbye is like that. You put your hand in it and then you take your hand back.
It’s not fair. You owe it to the reader.
We’re trying to help. We have an uncle
with a disability and he always says
exactly what it is. Take it from him.
Take it from us. Take it from them.
You can’t expect people to read you
if you don’t come out and say it.
Everyone knows the default mode
of a poem is ten fingers, ten toes
with sight and hearing and balance.
When this is not true, it is incumbent
on you to come out and say it.
Here’s what. We’ll rope you
to the podium and ask
What do you have? What is it?