When much younger,

listen to me children,

I wrote out my heart

on pieces of paper

and sent them all away

out to the world

and the world

unfailingly threw

them back into my face,

all of them into

a face they never knew.

 

Oh yes, rejected,

neglected, incarcerated

without trial

or appeal

they kept their counsel

and I kept mine,

changed by their

changelessness.

 

For you see,

the inscrutables are right.

Every no engenders

yes somewhere else.

I’m OK with that.

Really, I’m OK.

 

You never know

what I’ve discovered

and you keep rejecting

me the way you always

have you never will.