Irrational for me
to believe in the longevity of staying with you,
but I believe in it.
We are on a walk. When we separate
to let a lamppost pass between us
I say bread and butter so we won’t quarrel.
I am uncertain
about the truth of this charm.
We disagree anyway. Small things,
like about the taste of rosewater
or how your quietness means you are upset
although you say you are not.
At the river we consider the ice disc
and read cold astrology in the flaws on its edges.
The material is exactly
its meaning. Ice circles are fatidic.
I know that I believe this, but only have
faith that you believe it too,
that you are not just playing along.
Mary Mussman is a poet and literary researcher interested in the semiotics of queer experience. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The White Review, wildness, fields, and elsewhere. She lives and works on unceded Ohlone homelands in Berkeley, California.
