The gold flakes off those memories
You see the gray stone underneath
You pick up the glitter, paint it into
hearts on your palms,
diamond teardrops under your eyes,
watch as some of it, weightless
falls into the wash basin
then you laugh,
in the mirror, she giggles back
you can’t stop laughing
at the weightlessness of it
the unbearable lightness of his words
the unbearable lightness of his commitment
the unbearable lightness of it all
you smile and mouth “no”
You do it again, and again and again
until your jaw aches
until your jaw stops aching
until your jaw only knows how to say no
until your face changes its shape forever like
your mother said it would
“What is real?” He answered.
The words fell from his lips.
Three gold flakes that weighed nothing.
“I knew you were going to say that,” you said.
But this is what you wanted to say to him:
“You don’t know the weight of the word no,
the way it anchors in the sea,
holds a ship in place in liquid.”
“So it wasn’t real. This wasn’t real.”
“Wow you’re a bigger idiot than I thought”
“How unimpressively light. How unimaginatively opaque.”
you step into the shower after giggling
ponder the potbelly you are slowly developing which
you love too in a strange way; you
are in a moment where heavy things are
things you like, where you enjoy
the feeling of gravity in a fall
where you land on your firm feet with knees bent.
You close your eyes. You think of meeting him again, the
boy made of gold flakes.
You imagine him walking through the cafe door.
You imagine exhaling and watching
as he turns to gold dust on the doorstep.
In the shower,
you watch the gold flakes glitter
against the porcelain like
sparkly urine, watch them
circle the drain and disappear.