Here's this week's www.textsfromlastnight.com poem.
You were sleeping. You always sleep so easily.
And I had taken to plucking out my eyebrows in the dark,
indiscriminately.
Pinches at a time. Something to arrest the nerves, to stop
me from waking you
And pressing: Just where are we going?
What company shall we keep?
What names shall we offer each other and to the inquiring
world?
Will you still adore my beastly nose when time’s novelty has
waned?
Will you hold your breath at my clenched, rote resignation?
A hive of questions.
A muddy, sullied mind.
An urge to clean. I rose, entered your bathroom,
Stripped off my weathered, black panties
Turned on the taps
And, eyes closed, used your hand soap
To scrub and winch out the sweat collected.
Thus done, I held the soggy mass,
Wringed it out. And
instantly, a wash of regret
Pinned me down to the floor.
I was naked in your apartment,
Alone and quiet.
Unprotected. A remedy had to be
found.
Microwave, it was. I
tried a minute on the timer at first,
But all that did was just make the fabric more humid and
moist.
So I set it to five.
Watched the elastic of the underwear press itself
Close and apart, like hands in prayer. Rising and falling.
Then the carousel jammed.
Then, a corner of the fabric snagged the
Metal wall. A
gust of smoke and burning human hair and cotton. I screamed,
Yanked the plug, grabbed some tongs, ripped out the carcass,
Threw it in the sink, and turned
To find your sleepy, hurried face standing in the kitchen.
You said nothing. You
paused, took in the wreckage, my shivering frame,
You opened up your arms, we held each other.
And finally, with words,
You whispered: Love, I’m here. I am here.
And ,buried in your raft of chest hair,
I sobbed, and nodded.
Because I knew
I wanted to be connected, in this fragile moment, too.
Scary as that testament may portend.
I wanted to be here.
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