You curled up next to me in a crowded room
The room was faded as far as fairy lights. The musician was singing about a sister close in
age. I imagined the song made you think of your twin when you wiped away a tear.
Your breaths were long and deep. My breaths were hard and erratic—beating along with my uncontrollable heart. You moved my hand that somehow sneaked to your leg, and kept your arm threaded through my arm. It’s like Cavafy wrote, ‘body, remember’. My mind had moved on but my body knew better.
Containing my fidgets and spasms was an exercise in restraint. You twisted your spine the way a cat licks its back. My torso absorbed your sobs and shudders. I was the monk in a plaid shirt—chaste but still a body.
Once the convulsions stopped, I was a puddle in your cat’s stare. And the way you called my name evaporated whatever was left of me.