From Across the Living Room
gorgeous thing sprawled out on the sofa,
watching an episode of the show we like
while waiting for the pumpkin soup to boil,
you built me a home! an actual house-shaped
tea light holder! out of clay! with an ugly
cat we’ve yet to own! stamped onto its side!
sitting on the shelf! by the annotating copy you gave!
of a book we both cried over! you folded the pages!
vandalized the cover! hid dad jokes
i’ve yet to find in the margins! in service of the
DO NOT TRY TO SAVE THIS BOOK
warning you wrote! on the dedication page!
next to a drawing of your dog! i will not be careful!
i will not pay any mind! i will not stretch its spine
like i did mine at yoga! most days i am wound
tight like the towel i snap after a bath!
like a toy car i’d get you for christmas!
you gift me recklessness! de-calculation!
there’s nothing we can’t laugh at!
The cool-de-sac splits open my soles,
careful of the bone, and I catch ripe mango
foot ache. Kinda gross, how they fall on roads
same as tires. I tell you to kick one,
laugh when you go in for the swing.
What else is there to do in circles?
We yell at birds, or about them. We wait
for the Rottweiler and Great Dane.
You pick me a flower. The mangoes and I
have a staring contest, and I win, under a branch,
tempting fate. We dream up emergencies,
air-conditioned and fastened
together on the same asphalt, but only a while.
It’s too sticky to stay out this long, save for
a breeze, a whisper of February. Next month,
it might be cold. Another month, maybe colder.
I’d go ‘round with you til it isn’t.