When she asks me why it's upside down,
I tell her it's lucky.
I tell her it's waiting for the right moment.
I tell her I will never again have something so valuable in my breast pocket.
She does not know which is the lie.
When she asks me why I am made of poison,
I tell her I'm lucky.
I tell her I'm waiting for the right moment.
I tell her she will never again have something so valuable in her breast pocket.
This time, she knows which is the lie.
When I lost it,
I looked for it in all my pants pockets,
in the ashes of the fireplace,
in the bottom of the vacuum cleaner.
I did not find it.
When I lost myself,
I looked for me in all her breast pockets,
in the center of a circle,
in the first inhale this month.
I did not find myself.
I carry it around in a pack I do not want,
And try not to think of it as me.