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Familiar excuse. Nods
all around. And Mom? Why
is it always easier to talk about
Dad than her? “And my mother
has pretty much written me
off.” The truth bites.
I KEEP UNPACKING
As I talk. It doesn’t take long.
My history or unpacking. Everything
I own pretty much fits in three
drawers plus five coat hangers.
Too aware of the three pairs
of eyes, inventorying every article
of clothing and five favorite
books, I find a way to keep my
cell phone discreetly stashed.
Some things need to stay secret.
All I want to do at this moment,
though, is pull out the phone, dial
Kyle’s number, hear his satin
voice promise he’s waiting for me.
Is he waiting for me? Or has he
completely forgotten me already?
IMPOSSIBLE, I KNOW
But even considering it makes me
want to pace. My heart accelerates,
like something wild, snared. Caged.
I can’t let the others see it. As nice
as they seem, if they intuit weakness,
I have rewarded them with a weapon.
