Letter to an Imaginary Friend

after Thomas McGrath


The idea that we need or have a guide
gives solace to those up front.
Someone will tell us whether we are
right or wrong. The thought of deciding
on our own is terrifying to us.

(Could we say fuck you to our guide?
And if so isn’t the guide just a god,
an invisible parent?)

So we conjure up the notion that someone is
always watching. We can’t. We won’t
know for sure—until we are gone for good.
We may know it all in the beginning—before we become verbal,
but I think we forget it once we learn to make words.

We speak in an attempt to bully each other.
So much more is said otherwise. We say things
when we talk as well, but we are too busy to notice.

Most Popular Hypothesis So Far:

We are all really something else

So why do we keep analyzing each other?
I talk as if I know what you mean and you
talk as if you know what I mean too.
I notice birds rarely tell the ornithologist
what they really mean. I mean
their songs or the way they fly, of course.
Birds don’t give a fuck what they think.
When did you forget you were a bird?
When did you decide you were an entry
in some anthology or encyclopedia
or contributor’s page?