does it help?

"does it help them?", she asks:
to silently acquiesce
without response?

i don't know,
so i don't reply;
ironic repetition of my sin.

this is how it's always been!
whether arrogant or kind,
i just throw myself in,
quietly over the edge beside
some screaming fool i love:
assuming i will learn to fly,
or figure something out--
imagining a scene where i
hug my falling friend, pulling up
with my flapping cape behind me
in a race against the ground.

looking around, seeing with a shrug
that i could obviously do less,
i never think to accuse myself of
not doing enough, i guess.

perhaps it's cowardice.
maybe i only listen because
i lack the courage to interfere.
maybe all my kind intentions
end in cruelties & subtle harm.
hoping not, i still don't know.

years ago, standing at the kitchen sink
fuming with a wounded pride
i suddenly understood, as in a vision:
i'd rather love, and be taken for a fool
than lose the ones i'd otherwise rule.
seeing clearly, then, i choose
strong gullibility: intentional defeat
for the sake of love & peace.

maybe i am warped and sad,
duped in ways i do not understand
while defending my oppressors
to myself. maybe that matters.

"i don't know," i say again,
this time spoken, but still
a declination to reply--
ironic repetition of my sin.
but silently, i assume (as ever)
i'll figure something out.

march 2019