When you know something
you just know it
no one can tell you otherwise.
I hit my little sister in the face with a rock
and knocked her out when she was six.
I was there
threw the rock across the backyard
watched her crumple like a ragdoll
thrilled at the definition of a parabola
nearly visible in midair
against the backdrop of birch forest.
I can't prove it.
But I know it happened.
Memory at best is an echo which
repeated long enough
Is my witness alone sufficient?
You say you know Jesus.
Just . . . you know.
You can't prove that any more
than I can prove I knocked
my little sister the fuck out with a rock.
I declare it on my authority.
I am the proof of my witness.
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Poems from Other Days