at the saver's in hempstead 

we try on genders that used to 
belong to someone else. crooked mirror.
floral prints that yield fields of pilled winter hats. 
i forget where we said we were going.
the parking lot is a crushed can heaven. 
pigeons take turns guessing 
what each person who arrives 
is searching for. in the wracks of clothing
i'm looking for you. i'm looking for 
us on the night we met & decided 
to pursue a future as statues.
i told you, "my gender doesn't have legs"
& you said, "neither does mine."
the red tags mean no one wants 
to pretend this gender is worth something anymore.
i pick up my hunger & put it back down.
the sun is setting early. winter has 
a trash bag full of bones. opens it & offers
for us to sleep there for the night.
you buy shoes that don't fit & i buy
a button-up i'll never actually wear.
you ask me three times, "what do you think of them?"
as you lift the fake snakeskin shoes
as if they are little coffins. i tell you,
"they look perfect" when really i am thinking
of cradling farewell pigeons in them.
in the driveway you accuse me of trying
to be something that i'm not. 
i deflect it because i know it's true.
i want to ask you if you think
we are always trying to live inside someone else's clothes
or if someday we'll arrive & move like minnow do.
like we're slipping through ourselves.
i regret my purchases &, when you are asleep,
i throw out the button-up in a panic.
push it to the bottom of the trash can
so you won't see. stand there as if this is
a little funeral. the stars have all their fishing rods
out to tonight. i miss you. i miss myself.
i miss the way we once
broke our skin like bread.