I dig for shelter
in a homespun
endometrial layer
On Friday’s I search
For your face in mirrors,
visiting bars soft lit by streams of
sapphire bulbs; by eight-o’clock
I asked to keep
the lights off—
and in the pitch black
you pulled me in
We ask a lot of our children
To contend with our problems
the baggage we carry
the damage we bring
My body
became so tiny
I could feel
my heart desperate
to survive
against my wishes
