two birds perched on a barbed wire fence,
the sharp edges of time passed
cutting into mind,
the painful bits that have since scarred over,
keep the tally,
maybe it’s god or the cosmos
but it all comes together,
I am alongside those two birds.
we kept a horseshoe above the front door, a formica table with twinkling stars we found in a garage sale, kitchen green with plants hanging off every edge, and shelves you made me by hand. you kept photos of me by your side of the bed and I rested my hand on your back when I slept. we had hooks for our keys with our initials, your grandmothers meatball recipe in the far kitchen drawer, and a lighter from our night in japan sat safe on our desk. the dog kept her paws off the kitchen floor, I cried in the shower so you couldn’t tell, and you slept further away til my hand couldn’t reach. shards from a glass you threw stuck to my selena record I kept on the wall, you turned my photos face down, and your coffee mug stayed in the same spot for weeks after the day you left.
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