Aliah Lavonne Tigh
Leaning against the front door, I watch
you unknot the laces of your running shoes
with your naked fingers. Like good scientists,
we've felt the need to swim
beyond what we were raised to know. Still, freedom proceeds
from luxury. We've tried to imagine a body
as a rich private hospital. Love, you
breathe anesthetic.
Tonight—you're thinking about health
insurance, you say
you want to
go to nursing school.
We're women, and we rent our place. In this life,
there's also the possibility of a fire or an argument
or our separation—how much suffering
do people think Providence would
applaud?
I close my eyes to see
into the future of our ordinary apartment:
in every carpeted corner, pitchers filling
with rain from every late homecoming,
accumulating against my skin,
and against yours, so much untouched
exhaustion. I'm afraid always.
Behind my eyes,
a pastel sea of nurses begins
rushing through the hallways. Nurses understand
death comes like a tide—washing in
to anybody, they'll pronounce it. Here,
will everything flood too? Feel me
lock our door—feel me—
I always want to
dive to this place
where I find
you—expand and sigh against me.