How to Love a Monster

There are so many ways
to love you. I’ve made a list,
tested each one. All the driving
to and from, the making—food,
doctors’ appointments, beds.
The sorting—pills, socks,
beans from chili, TV shows
that won’t make you flare
with unexpected twists.

All the breathing—to mirror
the calm I think you need.
The “Begin Anew” for every time
you’ve struck a face, an arm,
a back, and how I’ve taught
your carers to respond.
And yet today,
when you slap me,

I slap you back. And all
my primal outrage a rush
from throat, a roar into the abyss
of you—standing gutted,
eyes a brim of fear spilling
from the split of you.
A cleft I cut with open palm,
a shatter to the shape of you.

I tower back, contract
from room. You trail behind.
Begin Anew?