Johnette Loefgren Poet I do not know?

The Catalyst ....Insanity

who 
she has become 
      runs parallel 
to whom 
    she would have been
         if not for me.
I take the blows and accolades as one
knowing neither has the acid strength to etch the metal 
of my skin.
I am her friend.

She knows me more than that 
but titles don't exist for  whatwho I am to her.

She dares at times to look me in my writhing eyes,
snakes recoil at her intense regard.

      A closer dream 
will sequence her in,
    when she was ten
she held my hands ,
unclenching fists
  of fettish and denial
a clever child,
  she made a game of guessing
in which palm
the past was more insane
and which more calm,

she knows not who she really is today
the muses come and go and some do stay
but she excretes a fiery self regret
of what she did or didn't do and yet........

the tiny sapphires sifting from her soul
are worth as much as others who are whole.

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