the sharp spring feeling on the porch
the plush interiors
the deep crook beneath my back ribs
where you imagined a stone hand
cupped to hold the weight
of lifelong bracing
this old rejected love
its place in the cupboard behind the jumbo bags
of basmati and faded coral lentils
the fig leaf electric pale
the generous jack in the box memories
that rainstorm at sleep
you powerless in my undershirt
pine cones in my skirt pockets
skipping stairs with tiny stride
in the almost danger twilight
and the birds from my window fighting
flashing their rosy underwings
the heaping plate
the sweet and bitter medicines
the never clean of life but also
the will to straighten, sweep
let some sweet air
through
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