Fears contort my stomach, compress my throat,
and diffuse their stench
in the atmosphere
unbound to thieves of peace that I can name.
Fears treat names like traps and cat carriers—
they rush from cause to cause
to escape tricks,
detention, arraignment and certain death.
What if I promised not to pick them up?
Fears might be wooed
by chamomile and toast,
fish eggs, cream cheese and strawberry jelly.
I could escort them to my home, show them
domesticity is not jail,
is not poison and hope is not nonsense.
Fears might then let their own fears go, and, tamed,
move from my stomach
and into my home
where we will practice kindness and take love slow.