“I don’t know . . . ”

 

I don’t know what a poet is,

but here’s a page with my blood on it.

I don’t know who the artists are,

but I made you something.

I don’t know if there’s a God,

but sometimes I see ghosts.

 

I don’t know what success is,

but I think we’re doing okay with these Korean tacos in Asbury,

I don’t know what they mean by “be hungry,”

but I feel pretty full every day.

I don’t know what he wants with “more aggressive,”

but it seems rude to interrupt people.

 

I don’t know my party,

but that guy is a dick.

I don’t know if some sex is a sin,

but it’s none of your business.

I don’t know if women are weak,

but we bleed giving speeches.

 

I don’t know what tolerance means,

but holidays back home feel icy.

I don’t know about holy unions,

but this love has burrowed in my bone marrow.

I don’t know what forever is,

but I’d like this to keep going.

 

—Bernadette Malavarca