an accident, on accident

After Day of Song, Day of Silence by Ada Limon

It used to be my deepest darkest secret, like shame, and now I laugh,

how foolish I was to care.

But I won’t pretend like I know how you feel.

So the first lips I touched were female.

We were playing boyfriend/girlfriend, and

I didn’t even like it.

I was old enough to know,

all those times,

but humans who pretend to transcend the animal are the most carnal.

Do you call it irony or coincidence,

when it happened

in a nursery,

or maybe she hadn’t outgrown her crib.

I’ll never see her again,

and maybe her name was Chelsea.

It was like seeing that boy I cuddled once

at the Mr. Twister in the only public eatery

of something like twenty miles.

We all have those moments now,

as adults,

but as our brains develop and so does the body,

the small little geniuses crawling around soaking up life like a sponge,

the moments on the cusp of The Age of Accountability,

are solid strands of recollection, sin, and the fullness of life or death.

How unfair it is to say we are now responsible for all our sins when

we spank the dog for humping our leg

only because it’s awkward.

Published by celinamcmanus

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