My partner is allergic to sentimentality, so I'm thrilled my ode to his unmushiness found a home at Zócalo Public Square, where I'm always awed by the writing. They make me feel smart. Thank you, Colette LaBouff!
Ode to Your Hyper-Vigilance | Poetry | Zócalo Public Square
Hugging you's hard enough when you're awake, but to worm my arm under your downed trunk, plutonium-core sequoia, and hold on? Pft. Not with electric jolts reanimating your limbs in spurts, flinches, clinches, kicks, grrrs-I'm bucked off. All night, these seismic pulses. Where's the firefight, honey?