toilet paper

i miss getting sick together 
as a house.

having a small body &
swallowing grape medicine

from tiny plastic cups.

we populated the carpet 
with wads of toilet paper
(never tissues)

like white carnations.

a field.

a fan blowing the petals.

windows cold 
to the touch. 

our hand prints.

mine bigger than yours.

i looked forward to 
the ache in my body

& the fever flickering
like a mouth holding

a candle. 

folded towels on foreheads.

me & you chewed

frozen 
buttermilk waffles

on the sunken in couch.

played the static 
TV channel.

there was no would outside
just us in our

sick bodies making

the house into 
an eco system.

steam from the shower
floating down the hall

& filling the upstairs.

the sun room: an angel
taking in as much

light as she could.

she asks god for 
us to never get better

for us to never go apart
in healthy bodies,

heavenly bodies are often
in the process of falling apart.

there will be soup 

in a pot on the stove.

italian wedding:
we get married 
to the cold we
all have, make veils
from toilet paper

chicken & stars:
at night we all look out 
my bed room window
& make pasta out of orion

tomato:
a whole vine in a pot.
we tell each other things
that we never do

like please help me

&

i'm tired 

& 

i don't want to die

&

i love you,
thank you so much.

picking the toilet paper
wads up from around my bed
& placing them

in the trashcan,

the flowers. 
a wedding 
is over, 

i tell them.