Most mornings have you
with blood underneath your nails
and bruises on the sides of your knees.
It's inconvenient, but nothing more.
All is forgotten by the time you've dressed
and are pulling warm sheets from the dryer.
Things are getting hard again.
Chores. Like saying hello,
or sitting still in a car
as you drive two hours southeast.
One of you hates the silence. The other
finds it to be something like healing.
Someday, this disagreement will mess things up.
This disagreement has already started
to mess things up. You look at photographs
and say to your sister,
He doesn't kiss me like that,
and all she can do is pat your hand twice,
like she is tapping for a pulse.
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