Rebecca Gopoian

We shout back and forth across the table, across a river. We’re fixed up, darned and hemmed, pulled toward each other by the thread of some coat. An error in the pattern let us in.

Connect the dots, make a chalk mark. The light shows all our flaws.

A giant cash register enters my dreams and gets locked there. Once again, the drawer is empty. The worst of it is, you look at me.