We watch the fluorescents almost green
across the gas pump, admitting
with relief to each other
we are not yet good enough or worthy
or able to handle the body-drum of our desires,
wanting and wanting with a gasp
in our throats. You have to be kind
to yourself, you tell me, as the gas meter
ticks upwards. One day
you might not make it back.
I did not tell you this part: when you spoke
something settled inside me
as if your own hand had guided
some misshapen humors to their home,
and when I left your doorstep
I was all tremble from your quiet understanding,
almost violent with relief.
Alicja Zapalska was born of Poland and raised in Texas. She writes poetry and studies film in Austin.