You tell me all the good leaked out of you a long time ago.
So I shouldn’t expect much.
Where you’re from salt shrubs stick to the earth like scabs.
Where I’m from green is a shelter.
When I leave your house in the mornings
there is a bowl of almonds on the coffee table.
The front porch is painted gray and a white magnolia tree
blooms next to where I park my car.
Its leaves and petals sprawl like arms in sleep.
It’s been five months.
You tell me self-sacrifice is the highest honor.
I carry my toothbrush out in a sandwich bag.