Laura, I Want You Pulling Your Hair Back
by Natalie Dunn
Behind your ears, boiling pasta and forgetting about six minutes, letting it turn to glue. I remember once you said, this tree is torn to shreds and we stood and stripped it further. The night I looked at you terrified. This was back when we belonged to no one, when your hand found my rib in the dark. I played dumb so as not to lose you. I watched you choose lovers, watched as you changed on a whim when a man entered the room. Laura, I want you embarrassed by long dresses, by the fun of the carnival. I remember the first time I convinced you to keep living. It didn’t take much. I tricked you into walking to the place on the corner with cheese danishes glazed thick with sugar. We never got them. On the sidewalk a child was playing in her plastic kitchen. She poured us imaginary water, offered us mud soup. We put out our hands. You took the mud almost to your mouth.
