Cynthia, you remember when the
closet was just another place to hide?
Stuffed away, you politely asked her things:
the toothbrush, that sofa, a baking dish,
if you could just eat, if you could just piss.
Never did they answer back, all silent
like her , unsympathetic and stony.
So you watched the dancing venetian blinds
chop up the clouds and blue sky, her boyfriend
babbling in Japanese those love songs.
You hated his anime anyway.
You waited for her to redeem you, maybe.
Like the father’s day card you couldn’t write,
Like the stifling smoke from ma’s cigarette.
here was the thing: you were blood but just blood.
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