like me, the storm wants this, this

like me, the storm wants this, this
RECENTLY PUBLISHED
How easily / I could imagine a version of our lives / in which he kept all his suffering secret from me. / I saw the beer on the counter.
He says: I want it to smell / like the real thing. // The real thing / is a landscape // of work and death–– / the names of our ancestors // slack in our mouths, / just the art of loving // your family line enough / to reproduce it.
look / we all become our worst stories / this is mine / I went
back / for more / nobody made me do that / I just hated being ignored
I’d come home from campus in the blue-black / dim of dinnertime, the air pummeling me awake from the daze