I am written in Linear A

You know me.

Not biblically. Not casually.

I’ve shown you the part of my

iceberg I keep underwater.

More recondite and camouflaged 

than even my labia.

You have all the ammo to 

destroy me.

And I you.

But we use this ammo

- Not to crumple -

But to crease each other

into origami effigies.

In photos on Facebook 

Those carelessly tagged

20-somethings 

(of whom I was one)

You noticed me

always on the            EDGE.

When we talked I smiled.

It was real

But not permanent.

I thought I was hiding 

myself well.

But you read the photos

like a cartographer,

Charting the rises and

valleys of posture and

arm placement.

No arms around me.

You said “I want to fix you.”

Instead of horror at my

brokenness, you saw

opportunity.

On my iceberg are scrawled 

carvings in Linear A.

How do I know you know 

me?

You’re a Rosetta stone.