i.

I found my birth certificate

up in the musty attic, buried

in a mildewed-Maker’s Mark

box. That strange name was

not mother’s-

ii.

someone broke into the house

when I was home alone, I lay

frozen on the sofa in a sea of

panic-soaked tremble, praying

the pitch-black would finally

swallow me-

iii.

the moon-blue Pontiac first

took me from that river-valley

farm to my mason brick high

school. Lemon scent danced

in dawn-light-

iv.

I drained those two free throws

in the district final with 8 seconds

left on the clock, maybe it was 6-

I forget-

v.

head of woman first found my

my lap. Her mouth opened to

sounds of my stillness. Eyes

rolled back into worlds with

no footing-

vi.

your ocean eyes first felt

the world, its distance opened

like a memory you’d known all

along. That red hair blew us

all away-

vii.

I slipped on the staircase and

you somersaulted from my grasp

into air open as sky. Roamed your

supple skin for ruptures with my

fingers, felt blind electrocution

as they shook-

viii

these pictures resurfaced today

the way ripples level off and

leave a clear reflection of a face

you’ve worn for ages but see for

the first time.