two kinds of ending things

Darling, of course it’s love.

No, I know, I don’t blame you—

or at least, don’t blame you the way

you don’t blame the cat when she

startles and pushes off, claws digging in.

She was just scared. She didn’t know

any better. Come, walk with me.

The zoo, the reptile house. I love

the pythons. Constrictors—curl around

and hold fast. Press in tight. Squeez.

Don’t let go. If you listen, you can hear

the little bones breaking. The loss

of breath. I love them, through the glass.

I love you, but I won’t let you get

your arms around me.

I know—it’s instinct, it’s fear.

Hold fast. Don’t let go. Your grip

a killing thing. I don’t blame you but

I am no little rat, gone soft and

still. I’m going. It squeaks a final

time. My bootsteps on the pavement.

You’re fine. You’ll be fine. I

breathe, deep

and gone.