Would you have done it differently, had you
seen it coming? It like a freshman streaking
the quad. It like a tornado rising from an Iowa
corn field. It like a monkey hurling excrement.
Had you known it would hit you like this,
would you have said goodbye to him, kissed
his forehead lightly or placed your innocent
hand along the length of his thigh, your palm
listening to that inward groan? Would you
have cut your toenails, worn deodorant?
Or would you have given yourself permission
to stay in bed all day, darn your stockings,
fashion a sail for your little toy boat from
old love letters, that sweater he always wore.
It like an epistle held close to your heart,
the paper shattering to pulp with each
ululation: the throb, the throb, the throb
rising from your chest as it comes like it comes.
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