Only When You Accused Me of Starving Myself

Let’s agree to disagree
about this anger
I don’t feel. Only
those numbers in your handwriting
erased from a chalkboard
30 years ago know
how we were supposed to add up

or not. A psychology
of emotions cannot qualify

the spirit in the slate,
a song over the dugout,
stanzas hidden in the threshold
we passed through
so many times
without thinking to pause
long enough to honor the reveal.


The alarms are as false
as the ladders and boots are

true to form. She prepares
to leave, doesn’t want sleep

disruption on this last night
before an angel appears—some people

go to church—she goes
straight to the source.