Me, Museum

My mother found a rabid dog
And wanted to hug it
Wanted to give it all her glorious honey love
Wanted to bathe her children in a two-parent household
But, the dog didn’t want kids
The dog would scream it in the hallway at four A. M
Reminding us as often as possible
The sheer art of it
How the monster could panic into my body
Sometimes I still hear it in the chambers of my heart
The way some glorious paintings stay with you
I am a museum
I must be a museum
When I was seven, the dog told me I was going to be a slut
No one came over to our house to play
The dog made me write, «I will flush the toilet seventy-five times»
I would’ve remembered to flush the toilet
But, I started blacking out around then
Forgetting basic things
Started praying that Oprah would save us all
I took snapshots with my memory camera
Hoping there would be justice for this kind of «psyco-warfare»
The teachers at the daycare offered apology eyes and extra sequence
For the art project
The day after, the dog chased me around each room
Because I forgot where my other shoe was
When you are a child
And your mind is panicked like a fire alarm at all time
You lose the ability to remember simple things
I haven’t lost a personal item in months
Do not laugh when I say, 'This is a victory'
Shame is an ocean I swim across
Sometimes, I call it drowning
Sometimes, I call it Moses
Sometimes, I say, «Good morning!» and swade through its murky surge
Sometimes, I win and cut off its crest with a pink machete
Sometimes, I want to fuck it and
Marry it and kill it all at the same time
Sometimes, I spend my whole day apologizing on shame’s behalf
Sometimes, I think it must be an art form to feel this bad
Sometimes, I outrun all of its psyco-history
Other times, I repeat the language from my child mouth
While beating my head against a wall
But all the time I am forgiven