She watched the fishermen
drag the boy up
the muddy bank. His hair
the only thing moving.
*
Mother made her chamomile tea,
while the neighbor
whispered through the steam:
twice the size—
had to slice
the seam of his suit—
She imagined him
split in two,
the fine line
between dressed
and undressed.
She dropped her cookie
into her cup,
watched it swell.
*
The wake, swoon
of flowers, waterfall
of lilies spraying
from his folded
hands, hiding
the thick swallow
of his belly.
His blue eyes still
open. Dim as the buttons
on her winter coat.
The carpet pooled
around her feet—she ran
*
strum of blood in her ears,
cobblestone jags
bruising her heels.
Her breath too sharp
to be held,
like smoke in her lungs.
She ripped
the buttons from her blouse
running
too fast to hear them fall.