I thought, I think, I am thinking
Of a number between one and ten—
A concrete point, invisible, I expect you to trust
Whether I tell you “right” or “wrong.”
Trust—fragile thread, spun by Time
Bred by Familiarity, out of Love,
Raised by Truth and fed by Experience:
By now, your trust in me should extend
Beyond this one-through-ten numbers game.
If I hit someone for you
If I hurt myself for you
If I took the hit for you
If I stepped in front of you
And the bullet hit, smack-dab
In the middle, just to the left
And I fell for you again, this time
In a swirl of red nothing like roses—
Would that be enough to prove,
For once and for all,
That the number was five?
But, like a child bursting into tears
As his Mother leaves him at the sitter’s,
Promising: “I’ll be back soon”—
So, you, each time, refuse to believe
Or to take at face value
That what I have said, is what I have thought,
The number I said was the one in my head.
Why, after all this time, is my word
Not sacrosanct to you?
