ciphers/sisters

the women in my life =
a wet web, shimmering—
               unsummarizable.

their messages:
grainy voicemails / emojied lists /
one-word texts / snail mail (still slimey)
humming beneath

a pond-surface plain—
but dive:
fish / algae /
eels—
a whole ecosystem fucking
in the stillness of a second.

one says:
“teaching summer PE”
[translation]
she wears the gay trope
like vintage jean jacket—
worn, wanting,
exactly hers &
her co-workers like it
('like' like liking a FB post)

another:
weight loss / shirt won’t fit—
nothing fits
anymore / new clothes?
—keep the old? how long?
and I’m brushing dust from vertebrae:
the bone-curve of her,
slipping
off the map
of who she's been.
the end = unknown.

a third:
condo listing / square footage / open house
she's selling it.....
I hear scissors snip:
thread cut.
gravity—optional.
maybe she floats past stars next month.

one sends a photo—
yes, a couch
(yes, perfect)
and in that Ikea angle, I see:
it’s about him
about how couch-shape / match
his absence.
home now = (her - him) + couch

another:
letter.
art again.
not for money.
not for clapping hands.
I read the ledger:
loss, subtracted.
herself, added.

and then me:
MBA class one.
then none.
my reply, plainspoken:
“I’m done with school."

but I trust them—
cartographers of the in between
my encrypted
~ notification ~
they’ll read
what I really sent:

a matching thread in their wet web—
pluck my meaning from the lake.
Sisters! Sisters!
I won't be
\\\weary\\\anymore\\\