by Raena Shirali
But it was easy—to picture
you cupping that
small phone so
gently, waiting
for the buzz that means
I’ve reached back where
you’ve reached in
again, waiting to feel
your gut bounce up
then down, plummeting
to that depth we call
a cavern, or love, or
the loss of air coming easy
to lungs that don’t
ask for it. Love, I
am asking for it. &
it is easy now, to turn
my head just so & behold
a plastic cup ringed
in burgundy,
to run my fingers
along the edge
of my own body &
remember: I have drowned
before. Will drown
again. Will love
how an addict loves
& maybe that makes me
the dumbest kind
of woman. O, sweet
morning, sweet bitter
film glazing my teeth.
I drink the wine. I
drink the wine. I drink
the wine—