Trust

As children, we have
no reason
not to trust.
We trust our parents
to protect us, (my father
running alongside my first bicycle)
our teachers to tell us
the truth, (my kindergarten teacher
twirling in the center of the class,
showing us how the earth revolves
around the sun) nature
to follow through with morning
light. This trust
falters with inconsistencies,
with darkness, with worlds
that stop spinning.  

At some point, we lose track;
stop counting the number of times
we have been deceived,
the number of people who have made
not likelys out of our
hopefullys. We grow into adults
who kiss with eyes open, construct
drop moats beneath our skin,
(naked is never the full story)
wait for our lovers to fall
asleep before we do.

The day after Christmas,
stores are heavily staffed
to prepare for returns. We give
ourselves like this:
detached, ready to be rejected,
gift receipts stapled to our chests.

As adults, we no longer
prepare for mendacity:
we seek it out, trust
only our suspicions,
respond to
“I love you”
with
“What’s the catch?”