seven

I have sorted over our burdens

Deep into the pit of my skin

up around my meat

under the ribs

to the left a bit

Where my pink heart hammers

Not even a beer so cold and smooth will help you there

It’s where I have decided I will not suffer your sorrows

Those that can be only yours
But I will be gentle with you

I could help you try on some of your old grins

I could teach you funny things to do with your hands and

songs to sing to your baby 
on nights when it is arduous to get a child to rest

I could make us homemade noodles while waiting

for the tea kettle to hiss

We could open a book and start reading

like we’re on a stage

I could march with you to the top of a hill

roll a joint and tell you about the boy named Bright

He liked to have sex on trains

He kept a list

You could tell me about living in Marin

And the one that got away

I could bake pies for you

and bring you a slice on your break
With a thermos of hot coffee
and a tiny brown love note

I could cradle your heaviness between my breasts
stroke your hair in silence

We could be the happy ones
Who says we can't be those?