She asked for a pillow.
I brought her a fork.
She asked for a cigarette.
I brought her a sock.
She asked for a newspaper.
I brought her a tea set.
Is this what you mean?
I said.
Is this what you mean?
I poured milk in the toaster.
I spread jam on my head.
Bring me everything, she said, pointing
the fork at me, her darling boy.
I hopped from couch to chair
in the living room.
I flew out the window
as if I were a bird.
I landed on earth, which stunk
of flowers, not dirt.
Forgive me—
the sea breaching the walls
of our house, the chimney crumbling, the bed
clothes on fire—
it was the only way
I knew how to love her.