charm bracelet 

i have a habit of turning grief 
into tiny horses & frogs &
sometimes even a ferris wheel. 
my first ex bought me a charm bracelet
& filled it as quickly as he could.
he bought me teeth & shovels. he bought
me wedding rings that we walked through
to reach his backyard.
you can take a thumb & smooth
over any pain you like. i have written
my life in pastels. sunset sunset sunset. 
a river started in the bathroom
& i cried because i did not know
who i could tell & who would even
believe me. my favorite charm
was a crown. i could pretend i was 
waiting for my coronation. queen of the attic.
queer of miniature halos. 
he cut off my feet to make charms.
then moved on to take
each of my windows.
he was obsessed with making memories
which is to say he was a historian
of the present. once, in an emptying mall,
he caught a pigeon to eat whole.
the chinese restaurant glowing red
was the only other store open.
i considered running inside & begging
to be a worker there. let me chop cabbage 
& answer phone calls from the sea of lips. 
he held me, same as the pigeon,
& asked how many more charms 
i could fit around my neck. 
he counted before i could answer.
"one the size of a house," he said,
thumb across the chain. 
i would take years for me to remove
the bracelet. even now sometimes
i will find a window. pull it out
& watch as it swells again to normal size.
outside there is a tree of feet. 
autumn comes & they fall it pairs 
eager to run away.