My brother got it for me,
from Jordan.
I smile and tell everyone who asks.
It's so pretty, pretty pink.
Suits you. You look beautiful.
He actually got it for his wife.
They divorced just a month later and now
he wants to get rid of her things.
Keep it if you want, he said. It will look
lovely on you.
And just like that, I wear another
of my family's tragedies around my neck
like a noose.
YOU ARE READING
Doux
Poetrythe walls with blued body scents soft on the skin, the curtains drawn and a lover asleep close by. ...
