third easter

At times there is a glimmer, some indication of what we were. i drop the girls off to you, and you lapse into some story about their homework, or ask me to check out a play that you have just seen. The recipe of your movements is there, and i wonder if they will finally, finally, evoke a sweetness of memory, but they do not. Instead, the usual distress comes.

i want nothing to do with you, and yet why do i sink my teeth into your memories?