Conversation at 3 am

My soul is my most prized possession

because no one can touch it and no one

can take it.

But I don’t believe in soul-mates,

because why would God create anyone

with only half a soul?

And maybe abortion isn’t wrong

because maybe it’s only

protecting a child;

maybe it’s keeping him from the pain you know he’ll suffer—

Isn’t that what mothers are supposed to do?

If you had been aborted, I wouldn't know

I was living without you.

I wouldn't miss you reading scripture to me in the middle of the night

when I can't sleep,

and I wouldn't miss you sitting at the kitchen table,

sharing Peanut Butter Cups and scribbling Psychology notes.

I wouldn't know what to miss.

How could I have known the difference?

It's the same with Leonardo or Einstein or

Hitler as it is with you.  We wouldn’t realize we’d never

had them, would we?

I don't know what else is missing--

whose smile might have warmed me

like the blankets in your basement,

or whose hand might have hit me.  I don't know.

I can't know. 

That's exactly what I'm saying.

I don’t think they ever come back—the babies, I mean.

I think they’re angels or ghosts,

but that’s a corny way to put it.

And of course I can believe in Hell without

believing in Heaven.

I know Hell exists because I’ve been there

and everything they tell you in that Bible of yours is true—

I’ve made friends with the darkness

and kissed the brimstone

and made love to the fire and I still carry it

in my heart and the places you can’t see

and it still burns as though I never left.

And I kept the scars and the welts and the

places I’ve been broken

and maybe someday I’ll show it all to you.

But not yet, because you still don't realize that

Demons are walking these streets with briefcases

and in police uniforms.

Did you know I quit school to keep the Devil's house,

and let him sleep in my bed?

I believe in Hell.

Heaven isn’t real for me like that—

I don’t understand a place without evil—

if there are people there,

there will be evil—

and then it’s not Heaven anymore.

Heaven is vanilla ice cream with just the right amount of mint in it

and rose petals that stay as soft as a baby’s skin

and the sunlight in your eyes without black spots or headaches

and your little sister smiling at you every day.

And I’ve never tasted or touched or seen

anything quite like that,

so why should I believe?

They're not all evil.  You aren't evil.

I don't think you are, at least.  I hope that you aren't.

But I can only believe what I know.

These things I know, these things that have

stung my tongue and my cheeks

and my heart,

these things I believe.

But I don't know.

I don't know.

             -Revised November 15th, 2000