Anna Ross

After Our Agreement by the Gas Station

Having worn you
across my cheek for so long,
this new name is not strange

or stiff, but expectant, like
the muskrat lodge by the Charles
this afternoon, the boats trussed

and white across a river
of floating gulls. Nights
lift over untwisted and deep

now, each morning
my slippers are a surprise,
the kitchen table

hard and tree-frog
creaky with studded legs. You
are up and gone already,

leaving an altar of coffee mug
and bagel crumbs and enough
juice for one more glass. Today

I have parceled myself
in small scraps, one for each
of our coming years. Standing here

against the floorboards, holding
the air that is you, whole and perfect,
I am only my hands.

return to SHAMPOO issue #1