“No, she didn’t know Che, but she actually met his brother Raul though. Can you believe it?”

“Uhm uhm. Suppose it is her?”

“I bet she goes to pieces. Look at her.”

“Ernie looks good though.”

“You can say that again. Wish he’d remember one of us and slide over here.”

Glass, stone, nails, wrenches, drills: things I cannot use.

“She wouldn’t even go to parties, girl. She’d either be badgering us at some rally, writing up some new Black arts manifesto, or working on her painting—like you could fight giants with aesthetics!—it was painting then: it was later she turned to sculpture. Something she wrote about the three-dimensional figure and its relationship to Black aesthetics. Whatever it was I don’t see any of it in what she’s doing now!”

“My father used to say some people just don’t know how to handle disappointment. I think that’s what it is. I just believe she doesn’t know how to handle disappointment.”

“Disappointment? What’s she got to be disappointed about? I wish I had half of what she has. Wish I had the whole of that man though!”

“Don’t you know . . . But in herself, I meant. In what she expected out of Catherine.”

“I know I expected something else. If that is her, I don’t believe it. Is that her?”

The Letter Opener

He opened his eyes and I was holding the letter opener right in front of his neck. He just opened his eyes and looked at the letter opener and looked at me. He turned over on his side away from me and waited. He gave me some moments to do something if I was going to do it. Then he said, “Do you want to take your shower first or shall I?” Just like it was an ordinary morning, just like he was living with Catherine anywoman.

“I’ll take mine first,” I said and put the letter opener back in the drawer. When I came back the bed was made and he was standing in his drawers.

“I’m through,” I said.

Then he went to the bathroom and took his shower. My medicine was sitting on the night table with a glass of water. I took my medicine and then I looked in the night-table drawer and the letter opener was gone.

He’s no fool, you know.

Before I Enter I Know There Are Changes

Before I enter I know there are changes. I know what I do not recognize. I do not recognize anything that will cause harm. I recognize nothing with sharp edges.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

At night while he is sleeping, I could swallow his air.

But he does not keep me overnight.

Busy Work

“The pass is for only a couple of hours, then I’ll have to take you back to the hospital,” he says. “Why don’t you try to get some work done?”

But I do not. I stand at the worktable and chew my hands.

Do you know why sometimes I’m afraid to hug him?