After Nora Meiners
“Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.”
He filled this box with every moment
he exhaled your name with cigarette smoke.
The fumes solidified into a black ball of clay
shaped like the first time he ever called you
beautiful. You don’t roll the ball in your fingers,
it is too soft and your hands are too clumsy. Continue reading