Wish not everything had to be
so goddamn true, all the time.
Wish for an open space for a lie,
a gap in the teeth of my unlocked
mouth. Wish feminism hadn’t
given up on itself, eaten its young,
sent the rest of us out on the parapets
to fend for ourselves. Wish I’d taken
up drinking, slept with more men. Even
now, wish for more of them: a collection
of marbles in a drawer. Wish crazy was
a badge of courage, the mind a playground
for more than just me. Wish I’d hired
that PR firm. Wish I hadn’t said so much,
wish Helen were free. Wish I’d not given up
on the gods so soon, that belief was rooted
everywhere, soil. Wish truth was beauty,
beauty something like truth. Wish
I could take it all back and still live.


—Rhonda Douglas, Some Days I Think I Know Things: The Cassandra Poems

A Few Last Regrets