You know

It’s not a rowboat. It isn’t true. Not a speech.          

Not an underground tunnel with a light at the end.

It isn’t bugs. Can’t take it to the lab.

Can’t map it. Not part of the family tree.

It’s not comfortable. Not a new thing.

Not the reason you make the big bucks. Can’t be painted.

It hasn’t been polished and wrapped in a tiny blue box.

A salesgirl didn’t pull it from the display window.

Not a yellow dress with a muddied hem.

Not a flower pressed into the Psalms.

It’s not the photograph tucked into two wallets.

You didn’t grow it like a bucket of corn.

It’s not your twin. Not your singular guilt.

Not a bicycle race or the prize at the end.

It’s not penciled on an envelope. Not beyond

a reasonable doubt. Not a tea kettle about to whistle.

It’s not Christmas. Not a house with a red front door.

Not a stack of letters wrapped in rubber bands.

Can’t break it and slide the pieces onto a dustpan.

Can’t take it to the dump in the trunk.

It’s not a gift. Not a working bread machine

sticking out of the neighbor’s garbage can.

It’s not magic. Doesn’t know what you’re thinking

unless you tell it clear and plain.

Jennifer L. Hollis is a writer, music-thanatologist, and the author of Music at the End of Life: Easing the Pain and Preparing the Passage (Praeger). Her essays have appeared in the New York Times, the Washington Post, The Rumpus, Harvard Review, Jellyfish Review, and other publications. Her poems have appeared in Breakwater Review, Atlanta Review, Cagibi and other publications. You can find her online at www.jenniferhollis.com.