Forgiving You in Jerusalem

You book my flights on Saturday afternoons. You have your head

to your mug and I have my mug to my body. Don’t look at me.

We are lovers that live down the hall. You sit and you sift

through my resting manicure and dancing childhood and soft sheets and

we’re talking, pickle to toe. Let me ask you about Harry’s girlfriend or poke

you about my favorite sorbet. This is our radio station and I love

to bounce. I know your hair would be curly if it was long and I wonder

what you looked like as a baby. Send your mother a picture

of us. Do you remember when we were running in

and out of my cheeks? I got hit by your truck but

only felt the small cars on the highway.

- Rachel Rosin, Spring 2018