Three Women / Two Transfers and a Token / One Reincarnation
(for Max Ritvo)
Lately,
flossing in the sink or
tweezing on the toilet
or hovering over the pregnant woman
I gave my seat to
when I haven’t been touched in months,
I stare into my reflection: into my mouth
towards the fleshy back See life
evaporate into nothing—
a hole where there was ivory
once and I sink like a cavity
into the soft tissue of time, as it is
proof of all we cannot repeat. Ecstatically,
a woman’s baby gurgles
above the engine and the heat. I shift
my eyes. Open my mouth. Make sounds.