We Cry Easily These Days

at the note your mom wrote you
in the bottom of the envelope that said
I’ve been having dreams of you in your new life
and unusually for me, without much anxiety
at the moon
at the ocean (windy and rainy)
at the news (how all of a sudden our hands,
clasped around each other, have been
severed at the wrists & thrown down on the
table, there is blood on the floor and it is
ours & not ours all at once; it came from
our bodies but we have never seen it before)
what does it feel like to have a body that
you’ve seen the inside of?
I want you to call me Babygirl without us
making plans to move somewhere else
where we could have a life; hands
attached to the end of our arms, fingers
intertwined in each other’s, our insides
nobody else’s but our own.