you showed me this and that of you,
”the good and bad,” you said.
“no one’s ever,” you said.
forks that don’t break,
and childhood explosions
hidden under d a n g e r
scattered, layers disheveled (earth’s soil exposed)
across old navy quilts and confused letters
two years, but i remember the way my hand moved when i wrote
first times and many times and
more times.
