Tomorrow, I'll drink coffee and pretend to read
two books I don't want to. I'll pack my past
in a coffin and ship it to the end of the earth,
where someone thought we'd fall off the edge,
drown. I'm learning to drown once every day.
Last week, I fell asleep in a puddle, laughed
too hard and didn't realize I wasn't dead.
I cracked my skull on a pillow and showed you
the dreamscape of Sir Francis Drake. You popped
champagne and tucked the cork in your pocket,
whispered it was special. Somehow, I wanted you
to apologize for everyone else, because
in the depths of my cabinets, back behind the coffee
spoons and extra plastic bags, you hid them
from the world. Suffocating and harmless.
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