His Mother Was Sick

in the guest room,out of sight, he said, and unableto hear my first attempt at love

with a strange manor not loveanother word

I was only afraidof hearing this woman coughthrough the door

       as I was being nursedto her son's breastboneI would be quiet,

keep my ears to myself as he undidmy cowboy button-up,

dead-lifted me,held mewith his mouth

I pulled at his hair to sayI had never been so weightless,never done this before—

traveled three exitsto learn how to say yes and no

only his sculpted musclescontinued when I asked himto slow

put my feet on the ground

I had hopedto picture him as blissas sweetheart

owning my kitchen, half-asleep       in gym shorts

large hands baptized in yolkI would tie myselfaround his waist

like my mother's apron

she told meit was no good

to live with a man, impossibleto find one worth trustingbut I always thoughtI could

do better than her

and if you were to ask,he will never be

my first       but his breath slips in

when I'm holding tryoutsfor that stout medicinepeppermint

a new bodyI find his handsand they're still warm