The truth is, you were better in the imagination.
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I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
The truth is, you were better in the imagination.
The home is those animals / who eat and keep trying.
You steady me, hand / on my back, as we float through / a slow-cooked summer.