color of a dog running away

At the table in the trees the woman looked at me and said that once she needed to decide everything she knew that was true about who she was. Things she loved without question: a color, water. This is unfair, I think, to have to name the things you know with no doubts. I don’t know how to be so honest.

I am a branch; I know that. One of my biggest worries is that I am generously hollowing out what I no longer need, and I’m not sure I will know to stop. Growing, besides; it is my body with caves and growths, and if we slide together for the rest of our lives, I wonder if they keep scraping at the depths forever. But that is how I am unlike a branch, too, because I am allowed to decide. So I am not a branch.

So I am one who learned to say that must have been hard, I did learn to say that. In the grass I stopped being relentless, clumsy, sharp-quilled, and pulled the gates down to let the crowds run out. It is good to open up the space and not be the one to fill it. That is something I learned, some way to be better.

I think it is okay to not know how to describe the color of what you think may be unfolding, and decide it is the one thing you may love without question.