EASTER WEEKEND, 2020
After the last time I saw you I lay in bed for a week, coughing,
slipping a disc in my neck. Don’t lie to me and tell me
you didn’t feel it. Here: the spring, like last year. Snowing,
“too late,” on the many confused. We are still so delicate.
I wouldn’t have it any other way but it’s a strange time
to be wanting. If nerves are still impinged in my arm I can say
you’re coming back. This where hunger really lives, I’ve learned:
any part of the body I expect to be filled. It has been hard
to forgive you. You hurt me real bad and I didn’t tell you.
I can hear you saying I didn’t need to lie for you, but I was
lying for me. Plus, don’t I still owe you? I ...