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.