I’m looking for the good robin of everlasting sewing. Easy as a bed to bed. And his words are mints. My shock in the ghost of the guest of my boyfriend. First there is the Father. He would not like me to tell you about him. He is punching holes right now. Saying petit, petit, petit. Garbled—he can seem like a balloon. Such a skin. A kingfisher. We are afraid to touch him. Like too many nights of touching ourselves. He might plan to take us on a picnic. We must be ready. We must be hungry. I finished my blue necklace. She tries to convince him because he was here on earth. Dad quits his job for the umpteenth time. I’m wicked lonely. We are in a department store. I buy him a blue bracelet because it is right there. And I would wear it. I buy it hoping he bought me something for Christmas. This is never true of course. We talk about religion. Of jasper things in trees. He wears an engagement ring. I am shivery, full of V-8. He drinks too much and cheats all the time. All of whom he left behind in the Bible belt are singing Yes, yes yes We put our hands over our face, our neck. We are overcome, saying, “No, no. I can’t. I can’t.”
From FIELD: Contemporary Poetry and Poetics, No. 73 (Fall 2005), published by Oberlin College Press. Copyright © 2005 by Sarah Gambito. All rights reserved.