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You see her in her back yard, spray painting heels red, dousing
them with glitter
You see him in his backyard, unwrapping a pit bull from black plastic, dousing
him with bleach.
You, it appears, can be
in two places at once
days apart. Leave half
your body behind you.
You can still smell the spray paint
days later, you wonder where
she took the heels & why-
You can still smell the bleach, the rot
days later, you wonder how
a pit bull ended up black bagged
in a pile of clothes down the block, & who-
& what will he do with the bones
& why her light is always on so late
into the night into the morning, why
you haven't seen her in days.
you find a rotten structure at the end of a pier,
you find a sneaker that might fit you
on the curb, a row of desaturated nipples
peer out from a black trash bag besides.
When we move through the world
we leave ourselves behind us.
When I left you, I left myself behind.
You walk out on the pier.
You are rickety & you are passing by
pairs of red heels left behind,
they glitter, full of tiny moons.
You see her running to the end.
the pier, reed heels remain.
Every hollow thud of her feet, you
see her pounding to the very edge,
the rotten structure, your heart
pounds as each heel hits
every rung of the ladder shooting up up up
from the roof.
glitters & she's gone.
Red heels remain.
You wonder if she made it all the way to the moon.
You wonder if you'll ever see her again.
You wonder if that dog is still running somewhere,
bones still inside skin.
If you could look out the corner of
your eye, just so, you could see her
at every step, running,
moons streaming from her heels,