Let me tell you the biggest smallest thing.
When that summer uncurled
I did not know how to say
Your mouth is a cabin I want to move into.
The topography of skin is a museum of accidents:
Miscalculations with knives and time and sidewalks,
Jumped by stray dogs
Rolling the alley like a canine Compton.
My forehead bears the discovery that
Three steps at once is too many.
My first real kiss was during a high school fire drill
A young lover pressed me into fifteen
And two nails punctured my back
In the beginning,
You cradled me under a thrift store afghan
A momentary, perfect happiness
Excited and terrified us.
You pondered the history of my graffiti tagged bones:
T was here. E too. Both hidden in memory wilderness.
We talked about the way some parts of the brain
Don’t sound like parts of the brain
But din into crumpled rain and rust,
Like Brocha’s area,
Which is responsible for speech and language
And the way cam-o-mile cartwheels from your lips
To my sternum, a dusty attic that holds our secrets:
Your fear of being devoured by wolves;
The lost father that leaks from my chest.
You should know
My heart was the tomb of an unknown soldier.
It was a Saturday. Blackberry bushes huddled close.
When I made my bones your home.