Evans

I remember how his breath lifted

and sank, like an accordion with holes rendering its crinkled paper wheezy.

I remember when I first saw him

painting, like a four year old, but the kind who isn’t dying.

I remember how he draped across my legs

asleep, like a hot air balloon with the fire turned off.

I remember when he searched me with his one visible

eye, like a tumorous tennis ball invaded where irises are meant to rest.

I remember how my soul stared at his fluttering red

jersey, like his chest cavity could completely collapse at exhale.

I remember when the constricting in my throat told me I loved

him, like the spade wasn’t already poised to pierce the ground.

I remember,

how do I stand up from this?