Before we became another docket number. Before we rose, sworn under oath, before the judge in her judgey robes. Before the man in tired blue jeans wept sitting on the concrete courthouse steps, in his hand, the butt of a lit cigarette, the air awash in apple blossoms.
Before you left me by the fountain at the Spanish Steps, my brain a funeral in the tourist breath, off to find yourself an hour of mistress. Before the therapist said, Are you hearing what he is saying
Before the edges began to lift.
Before I could see drywall, the crackling and bubbling of paint, the distinction between stone and plaster. Before the dam broke. Before the trunk you carried all those years unhinged, a thousand crows flying from your throat. Before I was alone.
Before the coal-colored waters came frothing forth to carry me home. Before that. Before that, you held me.
