I left the boy
at the door.
Goodbye to him.
Good luck.

I left the boy
in pieces,
skinny arms,
shaky knees,
light buzzing
down the hall.

I left the boy
inside county care,
walls heavy with green paint,
rows of beds,
welts pressed into sheets,
pillows damp with salt,
faces dull with ache,
safe but wanting.
My own face dry,
still burning.

I left the boy
at the back door
of my father’s house,
marching into woods,
through neighborhoods,
across highways,
no future,
only distance.

I left the boy
when she named the man,
not the boy.
led me through the park,
called me handsome,
her hand in mine -
not seduction,
but becoming.

I left the boy
for man’s hunger,
not for drink,
not for fights,
but for her
to trust me.

I left the boy
for trust,
for her hand steady in mine.
Still, in the doorway,
a shadow waited,
thin as breath,
refusing to leave.