The wise one with the green cat eyes-
those unblinking, sworn-to-secrecy witnesses
to our transgressions
our brushes with nobility,
our persistent failure to not love –
mentioned to me in passing,
in the course of conversation,
in the coffee-swilling chill of morning,
in the virtuous snow-cone of silence,
in the dejected gray of an endless winter,
that once you know something, you can’t un-know it!
It was a warning, rung out clear in my grandmother’s
mournful mid-century kitchen with the sad peeling wallpaper
and mismatched place settings.
We cannot suspend the arrival of truth.
We cannot defer the costs of self-deception.
We cannot delay our hour of reckoning.
We cannot recalculate our undoing.
I nodded in agreement,
in feigned understanding-
as fake as grandma’s tea set,
as flimsy as her sheer curtains,
as shallow as her kitchen sink,
as broken as her dishwasher.
I have worked at un-knowing.
I am practiced at un-feeling.
I am skilled at un-acknowledging.
I am accomplished at un-seeing.
If I ignore it, it will go away.
If it goes away, it will stay away.
If it stays away, it’s the same as gone.
If its gone, it’s as though it never was.
Except that green cat eyes saw everything
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