the memory of making them
a memory of self itself.
agnes and angiers
people i knew
who babysat me in front of
portuguese soap operas
and canned peaches with
gas station brand vanilla bean ice cream.
on your crusty face
in the depot of the trains
where all your bags and pants
were through and through stained.
sashay into town
with everyone’s toenails painted brightly red
laughing loudly on their phones
outside the closed McDonalds
shoulders brown but peeling pink
sloughing off skin layers til we looklike rusted cars.