If she had known
about plants
and pink moons
she’d add a panda to her memories
and rebel more
She would never drive in anger
and spend more time without covers
If she had known
of these terrible parallels
seasons of betrayal repeating
through the seeded soil
through the souls
(now she doesn’t have to go fast
she’s got bodies to listen to)
But if she had just known
there’s not one kind of pretty
and not one kind of plenty
you wouldn’t have been her last wish
of wonder