I do not know
if you are telling the truth.
I do not know
if you believe what you say.
I do not know
what you feel
as you speak these things
that build a fire in my chest.
I only know I don’t believe you.
I only know I feel the world becoming
something small and mean and ugly
when you say those words.
I only know that when I hear them
a hand—a fist, a peace sign,
a mother’s touch—at the center of me
holds up a flag that stands for something more.
Something like truth.
Something like light.
Something like love.
