Class of 2022
“Pair of Spoons”
she is cleaved to the heart, encased in bronze
and i feel folded up there with her.
let me slip in the space between
the bisection of her spine,
her silver seams there to
see to me.
i can see myself leaning against
the outside of her cloudy casket
or on my stomach, inside her split head.
i can hear the metal scraping-squealing as she splits
“don’t worry about me,” he says,
with me sitting between his knees
on the floor. “don’t touch me when
i get this way.” and i’m good at following
orders, so i sit in my chair by the other wall.
tell me you care, i want to say but dare not
ask, and when he does, i’m not allowed to say it back.
he never listens anyway, until i start to scream
over him, hope he hears me. he tells me “i don’t
want to lose you.” but still makes me sit across the room.