I carry you in separate purses
You know how to say those words so well
“I’m sorry”
Still, I tried hard to get rid of you
You always knew me too well; you were strapped on like a gun belt

People called you sick in the head
I wanted to believe them
Your eyes imbibed me in like two sponges,
Leaving me defected and ivory-skinned
I was pallid next to those girls
Because of you I didn’t look the same, and I drew it all in my cricked frame

My feet didn’t touch the ground when I dived in
They warned me not to dive in
The sign said don’t dive in
I repressed their words like they were bee stings
And pressed my luck against the calling machine
But my eyes, they could see the beach stains warping around the window screen

You are my emblem
Can you hear me in the air? I’m in an airplane
Flying twice as far East as that first time, on Fifth Street
I remember that sunburned smile, but you don’t
You only remember my eyes, and you called them oil bulbs

You can’t hear me now, a few thousand feet up in the sky
I spindled you up like fiber, and rolled you around my finger
I made you like a wire, but you wheezed like a five year-old child
I can’t see you behind those window screens, but the windows are wide open
You are too pink, spelled out clean, cut anomalously
No one knows how to pronounce your name
But you are horrifyingly good at pronouncing mine

Your ears are big and I thought they would help you listen
But you like to hear yourself speak, that was the reason for them
Now Fifth Street is empty, and so am I

I showed you things that I did for you
On the pier, where we walked barefoot over craggy steps
Where I took off my white dress
I looked like a nun that day, but you made me a person again
We lay there, stacked and piled like paperwork, not people
And hoped that each stemmed wood would not break
But my hair smelled the wind, tying into back-arching halts
Even then, I did not pretend I could not hear those lulling coughs

Your mother nurtured you too much
She must have shortened your name when you were alone
But I want out
Now I want out
I try to swim up, out of this oversized tub, but someone’s pulling the plug