Swimming in a thin print dress among piranhas—
that year, you learned a place I can’t fathom.
In a jungle three thousand miles away, you
watched sea turtles bury their eggs in the dark;
you gathered bitter cassavas, drained their poison
for days to make bread.
You have patients now:
a woman drips with toxins, a guy in a johnny
chases you down the hall
cursing for opiates.
You have this place you go to:
I can shake the sky for nighthawks and parse
the bark-puzzle of a London Plane. It doesn’t
matter how many other people I talk to:
at home, I listen to the pipes thrum inside
our walls. I don’t know how to be alone.
Appeared originally in AGNI Online.