The Soft Animal: Poem From The Vault

I wanted to tell you a story but forgot how it ended.

It was something about a bruise that wasn’t mine

and a highway lit like a warning.

You were in the passenger seat.

Or maybe the trunk.

Or maybe you hadn’t arrived yet.

You’re always arriving.

There’s a version of this where we meet at the right time.

You’re holding groceries and I’m not afraid.

You say something gentle like hi

and I don’t flinch.

But that’s not the one we’re in.

You sleep like you’re hiding.

I know because I’ve watched.

You sleep with one arm bent and ready,

like the body remembers war

even when the mind calls it love.

I used to think I was difficult to touch.

Now I wonder if I was too easy.

You touched me like you were daring yourself

to believe I’d stay still.

You love control.

Or the illusion of it.

You pace when the floor is already clean.

You fix what isn’t broken

until it finally breaks

and then say, See? I knew it would.

There was a night you cried with your back to me.

I let you pretend I didn’t notice.

That was the most honest thing we ever did.

You say things like,

I’m just tired,

or

It’s nothing,

or

You’re imagining it.

And I am.

I imagine you as softer than you are.

I imagine me as harder than I’ve ever been.

Once, you pressed your hand to my chest

like you were listening for a fault line.

As if desire was something geological,

slow and violent.

Sometimes you called me baby

like it was a test.

Sometimes you didn’t call at all.

There was a girl before you,

or after you,

or maybe always.

She held me like I was already hers,

and I laughed like I didn’t owe anyone anything.

She said I deserved better,

but then again, so did you.

In another version of this,

you take me apart and don’t forget where the pieces go.

In another,

I never hand them over.

I don’t know which one I’m writing to anymore.

You both taste like grief at different temperatures.

You both looked good in the dark.

You both said my name like it burned a little.

So if this is about you,

read it twice.

If it’s not,

read it slower.

I’ve hidden nothing.

I’ve hidden everything.

Either way,

I still want to be held like a secret

you don’t want to lose.