I Don’t Know

 

I almost slipped on a patch of ice tonight

as I was letting the dogs out. I felt my feet

go out from under me and for a split second.

I imagined my head smacking the deck

with such force, such sound, that you

came rushing out to help me.

 

I imagined a present where

I could count on you.

 

I came back inside and you were already

fast asleep in bed—covered up in blankets 

I'd worked so hard to earn. Breathing

breath that didn't belong to you. I wonder

 

what would've happened had I actually

slipped on the slick.

 

I bow my head, seal my heart,

 

and sigh myself to sleep.

 

Rachel Tanner is a queer, disabled writer from Alabama whose work has recently appeared in Tenderness Lit, Wine Cellar Press, and elsewhere. She has a monthly videogame writing column in Videodame and she tweets @rickit.