Your brother has left his wife fallen
for a younger woman we
could be watching the rerun of a made-
for-TV movie right now only the hinge plot
is missing: redemption, revenge, or madness
temporary or otherwise are all possibilities we
watch and grope for the least intrusive advice
possible: take your time, breathe, take your time—
hang up the phone with our mouths full of words
we then speak to each other a good crisis draws
us together a good crisis is one that doesn’t happen
to us we
know we are looking into one possible mirror we
know our minds have already dressed in those clothes: Scene
One door slams much weeping a new life lived clear and
free cut Scene One door slams forgiveness cut Scene One
regret regret regret cut
There’s only ever a Scene One
You can’t judge from the photographs because we
are always smiling there was no one there to record
my hysterical weeping deep in the hay there was no one
to record your hands as they lifted my great-grandfather’s
screen and threw it against the wall there is no
photograph of the first night we slept apart in anger
or the next falling
in love was like a sickness
my yearning for you so strong and constant and
I was by nature so solitary there came a point I nearly
couldn’t abide it that sudden dependence on your voice
on the way you held my face in your hands when we kissed I
know your body better than I know my own know your face
better than I know my own the scars on your lips the minute
folds of skin beneath your ears the dense mat of wiry hair
on your chest I would like to believe
these belong to me.
