"Service Changes" and "Signal Failure"

Service Changes

The first girl I ever kissed died falling from a balcony.
She was twenty-two, and I’d spent weeks avoiding her,
trying to starve the want swelling in me. I wasn’t ready,
decided queerness was a train I could catch later. By the
time I did, she’d been dead three years. I was de-railed,
first by her body, then its absence. Both things booting
me from the route I’d planned. I think about her while I
fold laundry with the woman I’m going to marry. Offer
a silent thanks for the diversion of her frank mouth and
careful hands; each arrival and departure that led here.






Signal Failure

Somewhere between his slack hands and
the cracking doors my nervous system broke.
I have not run an errand by myself for twenty-
six months. In public, alone, I disintegrate.
Over the years there have been so many
dreams. Pulitzer Prize. Christ The Redeemer.
Capped shoulders. Now, I fantasize about
buying milk alone. Sun-wet dash. Sweating
carton. Life extends its hand. I stand at its
mouth and do not flinch.