bone

by Yrsa Daley-Ward

You know that I would gladly drive with you to the other side of the world with only the clothes I am wearing and the loose change and empty peanut shells in my purse

every time you leave the room I worry and think that perhaps I have imagined you and maybe you have imagined me.

those were all of your mistakes too, happening in a different town aged sixteen with grown men some of whom had grown wives because your bodies always betrayed your young selves - making you smell like you shouldn’t, giving you a scent you weren’t yet old enough to own doing women’s work when you were barely old enough to bear a man’s weight, a heartbreak, or a child.

but we are each others home sweet home, Love. The roof is screwed on too tight at times and the walls of our house can pinch a little but, my God, they are always warm.

On the day, your voice will be too bright and cheerful, the way it always is when you hurt the most.