This is about you – isn’t it?
Your wrist is wrapped in pearls,
I wanted you to be married
I misheard that you were.
Misheard too, that your grandfather
carved an ice boat.
I made up the science
of how it would float,
imagined the refrigerated warehouse
where he’d work
wearing ski gear
in the evenings.
I wanted to know how
you walk uphill
in those heels,
to know how you hang up
your clothes,
the angles and geometry.
I imagined you laying
them out flat,
fitting them together
like a jigsaw on velvet.
Your husband would remind you
how to put them back on
in the morning.
He’d build things for you
like lakes
for your swans.
I wanted you to be married
so that I could be married –
I guess it’s as simple as that.
