The first time it really hits me, I'm staring at the peeling paint on the doorknob.
I long ago memorized the feeling of coming home – the click of my key in the door, the scent of Mom's stir fry on
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in the stream behind
your house we absconded
with one, he pinched
at my cupped palms
as we bounded up
the stairs into your room
we threw the door closed
we thought we set him free
in your aquarium
& we slept that night
arms touching
bellies still sore
from giggling & we woke
to a guppy-less
aquarium we carried
him back in a bucket
we couldn't carry that weight
with bare hands