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I towel off giant goose bumps,
borrow a couple of swipes
of Nikki’s deodorant, use
her brush to spike my hair.
The face in the mirror is mine.
Yet somehow I feel disconnected
from the person wearing it. Nikki’s
words come back to me: I don’t know
who you are. So I ask Mirror
Man, “Who are you?” But he
just stares stupidly back at me.
Who am I? Don’t have a clue.
But I don’t have to figure
that out right now. I’m cold.
I have my own drawer in
Nikki’s dresser, where I keep
a few things for sleepovers.
I choose boxers. Wranglers.
A red long-sleeved tee. Take
your shit. No way. She’ll change
her mind. I leave the rest in
place, retrieve the fallen photo—
Nikki and me boarding at Mt. Rose.
Great day. There have to be more.
MIGHT AS WELL
Go home for a few hours,
I guess. It’s a twenty-five-
minute ride, so I twist one
up and by the time I pull
into the driveway, I feel
