We tell others,
It’s just a herb.
We smile with dorkiness,
And our yellow teeth. 

You slept with too many men curled like a spoon, frugal with their touch, but not their post-coital whimpering. By morning, they had sunk underwater

In a locked ward, an old nurse with grainy voice,
feeds her warm oatmeal cookies,
weans her from IV liquid dreams.

summer
scar
appearing
again
on
the bridge
of my
nose