“It’s me now being laid out on some big
board being ironed and folded, frozen
to a small red speck that turns black
in my chest which is a box closing.
Breath. Where to find breath.
Putting the phone down everything seems
so still and coming apart at the same time
a box in my brain opens and the one
that’s in my chest closes.” (14)
the bent spoon
of a broken
you are the one
who can’t forget