good-bye
we say it every day, streetcar after streetcar, practice,
practice and then I am saying it to air. please no, we were still practicing.
I'm not good enough yet.
an apple you cannot bite into more than once without kissing
the tiny toothmarks of the last good-bye, tasting the lipsticktang of the lips
that got there first.
still practicing after the bows and curtseys, the set has
been struck. good-bye is at our backs, tomorrow and freedom whipping just ahead,
but oh here for a minute we turn around, turn back, bury our wide-open mouths
noses eyes in the musty pillow that is good-bye. hold it with both hands.
your snaking
oxygen tube. your skinny aggro. your shaky release. the boys. the
babies. my own own body.
still practicing. in my pyjama drawer, on the coffee table, next
to the morning grapefruit. good-bye goes with you and stays with me, precarious
splits, I am left holding it, practicing it, eating it. kissing it.
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