I don't know you
I don't know how you feel right now
or how you feel about the current state of the nation
I don't know how you like your coffee
or whether you prefer drip over pressed
I don't know the lyrics to your favorite songs
or if you like progressive rock or indie
I don't know your favorite restaurant
or if your prefer Chinese takeout and fast food
I don't know where your next adventure will be
or if you prefer to stay at home
I don't know if you like mayonnaise
or whether you like mustard on your hot dog sandwich
I don't know what you think about in the shower
or what you think about when you're washing the dishes
I don't know what keeps you up at night
or if you're the kind of person who falls asleep right away
I don't know your deepest most vulnerable secrets
or your hopes and dreams and your crazy ideas
what I do know is your heart
and maybe they tell you you have no feelings
that you can't be moved or touched
but I know that not showing them
doesn't mean you don't have them at all
we have the same heart and that's okay
everything will be okay.

These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis.
They grew their toes and fingers well enough,
Their little foreheads bulged with concentration.
If they missed out on walking about like people
It wasn't for any lack of mother-love.

O I cannot explain what happened to them!
They are proper in shape and number and every part.
They sit so nicely in the pickling fluid!
They smile and smile and smile at me.
And still the lungs won't fill and the heart won't start.

They are not pigs, they are not even fish,
Though they have a piggy and a fishy air --
It would be better if they were alive, and that's what they were.
But they are dead, and their mother near dead with distraction,
And they stupidly stare and do not speak of her.