To Widow a Name

is no accident, is my passive
aggressive mapping of my own
heart. I know

it is not what you are
called (or those few choice
words we exchanged)

that made me sick. I know
my body’s internal mechanisms
are of no concern to you. Still,

I can swallow this dream—panacea
that floats to the top. To say it
aloud is too much.

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