Behind your ears, boiling pasta and forgetting
about six minutes, letting it turn to glue. I remember
once you said, this tree is torn to shreds and we stood
and stripped it further. The night I looked at you terrified.
This was back when we belonged to no one,
when your hand found my rib in the dark. I played dumb
so as not to lose you. I watched you choose lovers,
watched as you changed on a whim when a man entered
the room. Laura, I want you embarrassed
by long dresses, by the fun of the carnival.
I remember the first time I convinced you to keep living.
It didn’t take much. I tricked you into walking to the place
on the corner with cheese danishes glazed thick
with sugar. We never got them. On the sidewalk a child
was playing in her plastic kitchen. She poured us imaginary
water, offered us mud soup. We put out our hands.
You took the mud almost to your mouth.