The Absolute Truth

I was raised in a school—in

the basement of a school. My mother

was a witch who fed me

chalk for breakfast. She made me learn

to love it. Or I knew nothing else

so I came to hate eating. I have a home

on Venus. I am fond of the heat. All

my lovers are tall—six foot three—they

bend down when they kiss me. Or

they lift me up—I’m as light as

a no one. We have no seasons, but I

always need change, so I dream new

lovers, I travel to the earth—I am

heading to see the final glaciers

before they melt. And the sea turtles on the last

island they can breed. I’ve lived

two hundred years, but I’ve

found the new ointments—my

skin is glowing, my body still

supple. Last night one of the lovers

crawled into my bed: I need

to dig deeper. He thinks I don’t

love him. And he’s right. I dwell in an egg

in my home on Venus. And all

that world outside? It is chalk.