Borrelia

by Lizzy Cooperman

when the blacklegged night flared its teeth
when the slow blur of moths took my name
when I slept with a mouthful of snow
when the squid of my tongue wobbled blind
when my words writhed like ungoverned ships
when the power went down in my eyes
when you burst through the windstorm of pins
and we danced to your pulse at the foot of the bed
and I woke with my legs, an isosceles mess,
as useless as two collapsed tent poles,
when I asked if it’s ever happened to you,
and you spit out the toothpaste,
No, never.

Published on April 28, 2022