to Reed College for her junior year.
sit next to her as she cries with her back against the dresser,
of every window in the room, let light spill on her still
purple and brittle. I want to go back
that nobody should tell off somebody they love,
Love is a conversation about how to take care
have been spilled on the table, and you look
swollen from trauma, and your love still finds you
of your mother’s hardened arm as you stand at her bedside, watching
all rotten eggs and peat moss, and you refuse to open more
where you will sleep for the next week as you plan her funeral.