as a child, you learn step lightly
step gentle but with power
don’t take what isn’t yours but
never leave what is
and especially don’t
hurt anyone
not ever

you, from the start, learned the first
strength was harder than a soft touch
but some things were fragile
sunday happiness
butterflies
and you tried to keep your word

leave the levain out overnight
don’t overwork it in the morning, knead gently
mist the inside of the dutch oven to create steam

this crust your crowning achievement, you
capture it from every angle
shy to dig in

savor the feeling of a chest swelled with pride

and then ugly, uninvited, the memory of his
swelled for a different reason, a
distraction

even on your sweetest day

“I will make it happen,” you said.
“Please trust me,” you said,
and you didn’t deserve it and so I didn’t.

And I’m better off now, but a little bit it
nudges me lightly that I was right, and you
were never coming back.

And mostly I hate everything you did
and said, and mostly I never want to
hear your voice again.

But a little bit it nudges me lightly
that a little bit, somewhere,
I’d give my right arm to have been wrong.

I’d give my right arm to tell you I
don’t forgive you
can never forgive you

and use my left to grab your hand and
forgive you

in the winter, ice had crept over her
slowly. it had hardened over her collarbone,
her hips, her tongue, her hands.
but on this february afternoon, the sky almost gaudy,
light spilling into her car and mixing
with his laugh,
it crackled
split
and melted.

you were hard most of the time
to read, to touch
I wouldn’t bring you home

now, though, when I ball my hands
I feel your silk-soft hair against them
remember all the colors of your chest

and you twinkle at the corners of my eyes

I want you to tell me
the truth about my hands
and what they are worth to you

will you grant me clemency
when they blister and crack
when they redden, raw

up close, it’s no secret that
beneath the skin, there is something
roiling

and I want to know if I should
keep you at a distance

shrink the shapes down to fit in your hands
they are not legible like they used to be, there is no
beginning or end or denouement
there is just the dust that settles once you’ve forgotten for long enough

it’s not ever really long enough for your shoulders, though
they twist with knots you can’t visualize, so deep your
fingers stiffen and your eyes look hollow
remembering is harder

don’t breathe as you cross the street, you could catch it
you darkly note that it doesn’t really matter, he’s
already gone
what difference does a mask make

but you hope it does
and you haven’t yet let go of thinking when will it end

though more and more it’s met with
I can probably live like this
and whiskey