A Poem For You & Patti Smith

In the winter we’d make couscous in the kitchen.
The apartment was icy, the window would fog.
You cut my hair off, there was a mouse in the trap.
You hummed my name against my shoulder
and then there was an ocean in the kitchen
and it roared in my ears like night.
I told you I’d cry during the concert
and I did. With fingers so numb
that even pockets could not make them feel unalien.

In the kitchen, in the winter
it was icy, and we could not see outside.