a woman once called me.
Perhaps I’m too fast with the first name,
or to join the team, too immediate on the ask.
I once signed a card To my brother to a fellow
I had only a passing acquaintance with.
Too familiar, my father would say.
Certainly, I married before I really knew
either of those people.
I have had too many “good friends.”
Be more reserved, my father would say.
I’ve tried to scale back, cover with humor.
But still there, I insist on the odd intimacy.
I’ve even asked famous writers to sign their books
To Jay, who saved me from the tigers that time.
That woman who called me a quick affiliator
did kiss me that night while chiding me
about my quick, “thoughtless” connections,
and finally gave up, and is my third wife.
She now finds me more distant compared
to our baby who knows no boundaries,
constantly invites us to all of him,
in three days, pried himself inside us.
Makes me at home.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 46 | Fall 2015