Can we just pretend that today
doesn’t exist?

I’d like to go back to yesterday
where you recited Shakespeare
and I kissed you every time
you replace Juliet
with my name.

I do not want to think about
how I have cried since then.

I’d like to take us to a space where
water flows up into the faucet,
all the wrong words are unsaid,
the door swings back open.

I’d bolt that door shut, then.
143 locks up and down the frame.
Then you’d never leave.
We’d crawl into bed
and morning would
never end.

I don’t think the inventor of cars
ever loved a sad girl.
Because if he did
he would never
have created
something
to steal
life

from beautiful boys.

And the inventor of stairs
probably never counted
the steps one must
take in grieving
the loss of
a loved
one.

Who left the 143 locks
unlatched?

Was it you or me?