I shot a side glance
and slipped on some
ice in a Safeway parking lot.
I dropped my gaze
after I dusted myself off.
It was there.
I shot upright.
No, there.
It was me tripping
over my every word.
In one direction,
I kept stepping.
Helena gripped my shoulder.
She said nothing as she studied
my face to place me in the familiarity
of grins on a sea of faces
from last Thanksgiving in a parking space.
Helena hit my car on the way
to pick her sister up from a bar.
We exchanged sailor’s words
spoken above understanding.
We took pictures of the damages,
but she begged me to allow her to pay me.
Helena’s insurance didn’t need a price hike.
I agreed.
I thought I’d never melt
in the presence of the sweet half
of the bitterness we both shook off
to enjoy Thanksgiving, like breakfast in bed,
telling family members to consider us dead this year.