1267

and at once
we recognized the smell
of spoiled sweat and stale smoke

and
at once
we felt the looping cuts of the fan
the skittering wind
raising the tiny hairs by the wrist
well we couldn’t recall what

it made us think of
(maybe) nights when
we took grief by the ankles
buried him

deep in the backyard
a gray hand stretching
clawing from the dirt
a reminder of our ignorance and

our stinking shame
so repulsive in the morning light
so temping in breathless mornings
(or) half attempted

mourning
when we knew with our hands
tight to our chests
this is all life is
a collection of mental polaroids of
the gentle sound of our lover’s
feet in the morning the soft pads
touching and gripping the cold
hardwood
of the bright and immediate
taste of mint
and the opposite the dull heavy
taste of spit
so stark and strong at night
the toothbrush dripping by the sink

yes
we remembered it well
Maria
but what to do about it

I wondered that every night