i’ve been coming up empty
and being soft in the winter has been making me nauseous.
some people are not made for tenderness,
the way neither of us were made to be housebodies.
in my dreams we raise our kids jewish
but they still have christmas
and we go up north to see my mom on the weekends.
in my dreams you stayed with me the whole winter
and we made grocery lists, and saved up for a house.
and in that house i sleep in your boxers
and neither of us have ever broken mirrors
or punched through walls trying to escape
the beasts within that we call our fathers.
i don’t think i was made to live in the house.