Free Entry 1, Week 12

The more you talk the more I unplan
our drapes and oriental rugs. I can hear
you fumble through boxes in the next room.
You drain them of their sinking suspicions,
our parents’ warnings. I’m experimenting
with you to find the exact coordinates.
All that I unbury is more talk, your vibrating
voice that sounds best when you’re at work.
If we were actors all the lines would be forgotten,
you reciting Hamlet when we’re performing
Macbeth and I playing Blanche Dubious.
Last week you screamed from the roof
of the house that you could see the hospital
six blocks away. This is a sign of your dependency
on sterility. I should wear you like a lab coat
just to shield myself from possibility of hands.
Your hands carry in one more box from the truck—
kitchen wares, it says. Have you seen the blender?
You ask. I begin to say no, but then I realize
if I say yes then you might believe I want you here.