you wonder what she’s thinking when she looks at you like that, talks to you

like that, tells you it’s not me, it has never

been

me - but shivers.

****** teeth. wrists, with the skin pulled back. open

mouths. open

veins.

these are the things that slip, these are the things that

we hold open, open, waiting for the words to come out, waiting for the

truth to come out, waiting for something to touch, something real,

something that can’t be touched

by fire, or her fingers, if there’s a difference.

you said pull over, you said

wait. her, the fire. her, laid out on the table, palms forward, feet

together. her, something real, something to shiver to.

do you remember, she says, what happened? do you remember tearing

me apart, ripping

the paper open, waiting

for the surprise, the scare, the audience roar? do you

remember

what it did to me?

you remember. you see an aftermath, aftermath of something,

aftermath of remembering, aftermath of

waiting.

these are games that children play on summer days. these are the things

that we hold open, and she keeps dancing - stop dancing. stop

moving.

stop

waiting.

close the wound.