You wouldn’t believe it! One minute
he’s just my husband, soaping a dish,
but when he turns to me, lifting a towel,
I have something to tell you—presto!
My chest is a cavity filling with crushed ice,
the air a shattered windshield I haven’t even hit
yet as he steers me over familiar hardwood
to the couch.
How did he do it?
I stared down hypnotized by our braided rug circling
and circling, as it has all these years.
And then it disappeared.
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