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 psycho-warfare The teachers at the daycare offered apology eyes and extra sequins 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 times 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 wade through its murky dirge 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 psycho-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