ah, a whole day of cravings
curbed. feeling lighter
here.  drinking coffee out of
blue and yellow porcelain cups,
how it sustains and suppresses
an appetite.

I am cataloging
food as it relates to money.
the less I eat.
the more I save for
other things.
I do not tell my partner
this, merely thin myself
like I’ve always earned
to be a paper waif.
just kind of
feather.

I realize that my bank account has
nothing in it for the third time in
my life. these are things that haunt
you as they stand,
not later.
the way I cradle the welcome
gift from his mother,
these dishes, these pots:
tangerine and carnation
yellow, and red bowls.
red plates.
she decorated the place while we were out.
left a beautiful quilt on the bed.
I felt the edges of the sink and saw
something else in the townhouse.

I hated the stairs that cut through the center
and the backyard, too small now
lined with  green safety fence,
chicken wire, he held up to show
me, ways to keep the cat safe
inside.
these are things that haunt
as they stand.

later, months later,
I appreciate the space.
begin to pluck out all
the crabgrass in the tiny
backyard by hand, no gloves,
appreciating how quickly
my skin calluses,
the encasement for my
straws today holding utility,
the parable of clearing;
the way I threw away the
windchime and its broken shells
littering the ground like it
meant nothing to me now:
a childhood emblem I’d
had since I was eight.


all the ways I’ve entered
contracts on a whim,
the things I’ve collected
and the interminable slam
as I show my thorns,
me. I’m beginning again
to talk to ghosts
in the corridor.

“doors #1”

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