When the third jar this week
slips and shatters on the kitchen floor,
while you're wringing out the mop, love me.
Love me like it's just the two of us,
like the answers will be revealed,
oracle tea cups spelling out messages in soggy leaves.
Love me, bent on escape, running
to the garden, beating at the dirt.
Block the emergency exits and love me.
Love me like we planned this,
carefully, making dignified strokes of the pen.
Love me as if the burden sits on your chest
like a breeze, mixing with your breath,
momentarily raising a few strands of hair.
Press your optimism to me like a blanket.
Whisper to me like I'm a one-night stand,
a dying soldier, cut out lies for me
that hang around the doorframe,
fragile paper dolls. Grab me
by the shoulders and look at me,
as if you understand.

In this heart of mine, you
Always have room.