When we first met, she showed me a whale jaw—
tapered as the belly of a boat—before opening
the door onto the skull of an elephant who had
killed her trainer. Sockets hollow as sorrow,
I never forgot. Our home, too, would be riddled
with moth dust and carpet beetles, dried pipefish,
bones waiting to be articulated and identifiable.
Ours was the marriage of fainting goats, shiso,
the mating struts of rare birds. Of dissection,
stop-motion, black and white. We shared knives
and space and so much spit. We took turns crying
for being touched. Each of us was built to try.