"This One's For Us" by Terri Linn Davis

The first night we met, 

we lay under your freshly laundered bed sheets, 

and you showed me your

yearbook, named all the strangers 

for me by first and last name; 

when you met my four-year-old son, 

he cut your throat 

with an invisible cutlass: 

you fell—clutched at your throat, 

and let the laugh spill; 

for your birthday, 

I drew my right ear and framed it;

remember?; 

how when we made dinner, our mouths?;

how there could be no seam found 

in the flesh of them,

how you said, I know

one day I won’t want to do this constantly, 

but I’m not there yet, 

how the Brussels Sprouts 

you drenched with honey burned,

how we ate them anyway 

knowing the inside meat was good?;

Terri Linn Davis is the co-editor of Icebreakers Lit, a chaotic, loving home featuring collaborative writing. You can find some of her work in Taco Bell Quarterly, Pithead Chapel, The Penn Review, Cultural Daily, Five South, and elsewhere. She lives in Connecticut in a 190-year-old haunted farmhouse with her co-habby and their three children. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram @TerriLinnDavis and on her website www.terrilinndavis.com