Poems Like Us
after andrea bennett; for B
A poem for the broken tap and the burnt-out bathroom light in the downtown apartment. A poem for your hand in my hair in the frozen foods aisle on a Sunday afternoon. One for rubbing lavender balm on your chest and falling asleep to the whir of the humidifier. Another for our corner booth at the pub and the waitress who called us her little birdies. Poems for every cup of tea you’ve made to soothe my stomach or send me to sleep. Poems for all the times we stayed in the bath until our skin wrinkled and the water cooled. Poems for the poems we’ve shared and the ones we haven’t. Poems for period sex and upstairs neighbours, for torn sheets and the towel with the kiwi pattern. A poem for the fifty dollar lobster roll we tried to take across the border. Another for the lurid intimacy of sharing a toothbrush on vacation. Poems like stolen kisses at the back of a theatre. Poems like unexpected nudes in the afternoon, like windy graveyards, like my dog’s hair on your coat. Poems like us; soft, meandering, and hungry.
