Magical movies & sci-fi stories warn against
time travel, claiming butterflies have it out
for us. I’m supposed to say, Everything
happens for a reason & God’s will be done.
But the truth is: If there really was a God
who existed outside of time & prayers
were like wishes, I’d ask for the power
to pulverize your painful past
with my own shaking hands & hold it
out for you to blow away
like an eyelash. If God listened like you said
He did, I’d take the ashes of your trauma
to the beach where you grew up
so you could watch them be undone
by the wind or disappeared by the gleam
of the sunlight. If forgiveness was born
of sacrifice, I’d spill our shared
blood & rub the salt of your childhood into my
wounds so they could sting & heal & scar
& then I could forgive myself for being
ashamed of you. If I could pass through you
like the holy ghost, I’d reach into your chest
& cradle that childlike, pure part of you & plant it
in the new skin your memories made in me,
water it with my own eyes so you’d never
cry & I’d make us into different people
altogether. We’d be so loved, so disgustingly
lousy with love, we’d be boring; each Christmas
filled with family who only touch to hug;
our lives, so abundant & blessed, absolutely
no one would write about us.
Amanda Woodard is a freelance poet, essayist and ghostwriter, and an MFA candidate at Antioch University. She studied Social Science and Journalism at the University of North Texas and attended writing workshops at the Mayborn Literary Nonfiction Conference and Writing Workshops Dallas. Her work has been performed in Oral Fixation and published in Ten Spurs, eris & eros and Cathexis Northwest Press.
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