Sandspurs

Putting a plank of wood
Into the shed out back,
I noticed a whole garden 

Of sandspurs growing wild

And flourishing:

Those insidious, innocent (at first) little plants 

That sprout tiny green fluffballs

That suddenly turn into razor sharp

Orbs of pain this time of year.

I hate them.

Without thinking, I gave into my hatred

And, bare-handed, tried to rip them out

By the roots, 

Clutching the whole batch

In my left hand. 

In my annoyance with their existence,

I ripped them out,

And in return, 

They stabbed at my fingertips,

Jabbing my skin

With white hot pinches. 

Some of the points broke off, 

Splintering down under my skin.

I tossed them all into the yard waste bin, 

Satisfied that my anger had destroyed them, 

Had been appeased. 

But my self-righteous triumph

Felt thwarted 

By the throbbing in my fingertips. 

Two days later, 

And the splinters will not come out. 

My skin has covered them over

And eventually

A blister will form and harden around the splinter, 

And eventually I'll pull away the dead skin

And the splinter embedded in it

So I can heal. 

But perhaps if I hadn't wanted to pounce
On those thorny orbs so quickly,

Perhaps I might have saved myself 

A lot of pain

If I had just donned a pair of gloves. 

Possible Things Before Breakfast

The White Queen on the other side

Of Alice’s Looking Glass

Practiced believing impossible things - 

As many as six - 

Before breakfast. 

I see the merit in such and approach. 

It encourages imagination, 

An, ironically, possibility. 

But when I ponder it, 

There is also merit 

In believing as many as six

Possible things before breakfast.

When I think about the fact

That I wake up most mornings 

Immersed in a sea of certainties 

Flowing through my mind and all around me

So constantly 

That I hardly know they are there, 

It occurs to me that most other people wake up 

In seas of similar certitude

But of different certainties. 

The people I most disagree with, 

The people who think things I could never think,

Thoughts that are not only wrong

But translate into horrible actions

And terrible policies

Are just as certain as I am 

Of their rightness

Before they sit down to coffee and eggs and bacon. 

So perhaps 

It behoves me to think six possible things before breakfast. 

Is it possible that I’m wrong? 

Is it possible that my certainty is an idol 

I bow down to so I don’t have to think?

Is it possible I’m a hypocrite? 

Is it possible that when my certainties

Are brought out of my head 

Into the light 

They will make a scene and clash with each other? 

That I might have a fight on my hands 

Between rival ideas

That I thought got along fine

But actually want to tear each other’s throats out?

Do I hold others to a standard

I don’t expect of myself?

Is it possible that I’m 

Just going with my gut,

My knee jerk reaction, 

With what I want to be true,

When in reality, 

If pressed, 

I don’t actually know very much 

About the opinions I’m so sure of? 

Is it possible that the world 

Of ideas that I take for granted

Is just a construction,

Like the movie Matrix,

But created by my own mind:

Made up of biases 

And prejudices 

And online filter bubbles 

And money being made somewhere 

Out there in the digital either

From the fact that I keep on clicking 

On the things that already agree with me. 

Is it possible that I have reduced 

The world into simple binaries 

(Ones and zeroes in computer parlance)

Without nuance, 

Without color, 

All black and white, 

And myself always standing in the light 

Of righteousness? 

Is it possible I am missing the nuances, 

The inbetween-ness of things

The allows for complexity,

For paradox?

Is it possible that 

The worldview I find on my head each morning

Like an enormous hat 

I have somehow slept in

Is a protective helmet 

I have built around my mind 

To keep out the thoughts 

That might actually help me grow? 

But will I actually

Question myself? 

Will I attempt to step

Out of my comfortable, 

Limited perspective? 

Or is that impossible?

If so, perhaps I have thought six 

Impossible things before breakfast 

After all.