Infallible

The grip on my upper arm
tightens as I lean away.
Insistent.
Parental.
Would you let me think?

About life and death,
what I can know and what I am,
about why I’m here.

Is it for you?
Do I exist for you?
It’s not entirely impossible,
nor improbable.

In the same way,
you could exist for me.
And the chicken hatches the egg
and the branches yield to the wind
and the mother births the child
with all brightness and hope and 
no forlorn attempt.

Accepting the endeavor as it was 
when it was presented:
“Ownership”

Your grip is looser now
infallible.

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