When I ask if you have fallen
out of love with me and you do
not answer, I picture you
holding a tin can up to your ear.
I imagine a string tied to its middle
as if it were a leash around the belly
of a fat, silver worm. The string—
an escaped vein—runs down your arm
over your knees, along the bed, up
my chest and into my skin like a fish
hook or a feeding tube plugged
straight into my heart, threaded between
my bones like a letter slipped into
the mouth of a public mailbox.
– Sierra DeMulder
i won’t call the last man who said he loved me because i know he doesn’t love me anymore. it was an exhausted, weak, three month cord cut. why call to confirm?
there are others i ask in small ways from time to time, just to check. do you love me still? do you remember? old, strong, and true loves who keep answering. i suppose i’ll stop asking when it doesn’t matter to one of us anymore.