What Happens When Your Husky Watches Balto

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Hope Felt a lot like That

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very gently, i rolled and rolled and rolled

tire away from car. It gasped air,

trying to refill. the grooves were thick under clean palms, dirt roughed

the surface; my hands came away black.

Hope

felt a lot like that.

the curls on the floor were being swept into a pile.

I ran my fingers over your shaved head.

to hide the loss you covered your skin. a decade later when i thought

of you, i would think of your tangles and your dark attract.

Hope

felt a lot like that.

At 3 years old, I pulled my fish out 

of water so he could breathe clean

air. the gills on his neck were

sharp, and flat.

Hope

felt a lot like that.

The prom dress i wore on our first date

was made of tulle and lace. the

tux you donned, both of us in

McDonald’s at 2 AM, was a matte black

on black.

Hope

felt a lot like that.

my first concert i connected fist with

face, under threat of insult for my goth

boot taste. Afterwards my lip was

split, and fat.

Hope

felt a lot like that.

when I was 16 I bought a Mercury Comet,

so I could always find my way

through the dark. the seats were vinyl,

chipped peeling red. I had nowhere to 

go, just drove lap after lap.

Hope

felt a lot like that.

after my friend had her first baby in

a sterilized hospital room–I came to visit you.

she was flushed and pink, beautiful rose. But instead of

flowers, i brought you pretzel snacks.

Hope, you said

tasted a lot like that.

I married an artist who painted canvases with

thick, thick brush strokes. he always tasted 

like acrylic gel and sand; worked late

into the nights because the nights were

his friends. when i woke in the morning

I’d run my fingers over abstract ridges

and dips.

the crevices in his mind turned out to be blue, and vast.

love

felt a lot

like

that.