ты плачешь? are you crying? you asked

I wasn’t though

just sometimes my eyes closes and I hear noise in my eyes

sometimes when I think of certain things

or read poetry — that makes me think I am no good reader

are you Jewish? she asked

and many others

I have to say that my mother is Jewish

though, I wasn’t born by a Jewish woman

my siblings were

some weird mixture of blood and education

makes you a soldier

or the one killed

I gave you a Tarot reading

too many clubs

there shall be fire

there shall be sprouts

magenta opulence of fireweed

on the scorched earth

or the ones we used to collect with my father

to make tea

you just take the leaves off

put them in a freezer

let it ferment afterwards

and roast to attain the caramel flavour

I taught my brother to do this

I showed him the difference between

nutritious chervil and poisonous hemlock

if you see purple reddish dots on the stem

do not eat the plant

he’s now being taught of

war, valour and hatred

in ways that hemlock seems innocuous

I wrote some bullshit. you told me

I hate delivering platitudes

but really. can a text be bad
if the author is ashamed of it?

I hate delivering platitudes

but can poetry without valour and hatred
be bullshit?