I apologize ahead of time for all the
photographs that have never
been written
for the limbs
we talk about frequently
bcuz
we have a lot of them
&
they can’t distinguish each other
little categories, sure
but just
blowing into empty space
slowly
& it’s been a very
complicated
relationship
with my
anything really weighing
on my
last time i honestly can’t
really start meeting folks, how i relate to mine
the only way i can ever really see you
through displacement,
you, or glasses of old cabernet
you, or windows with dirty hand signals
you: (a little bit) tricky long-distance
from/manipulation/or/that time we knew about walking home
i would sleep
/if i were something else/
stop being fooled by
constant breathing
so i could
harness
my
peripheries
in getting lost
if i could just be
OK
and
sleepy
but instead,
i am not moving at all until
the week before i am comfortable,
since there are things i just can’t say,
but what if i just deep down
remove the years ago parts,
and remember the good fortune
standing between us
and what it looks like
to be a daughter
when i finally think i can
stick my hearing around
the corners of your mailbox
or tell you about
the risk of changing topics
or
the fucking conversations
you might compare me to
if my ears became bobcats
and i stopped saying thank you
but first, i wanted to
get all this down,
so i took my right leg
and then i took my left one
then my right
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