Adam

Man whose surname is immaterial or forgotten,

first man who held me in the world after death came.

Decembered boy, with foppish brown hair, aswirl

in perfect loose curls, & round tortoiseshell glasses

you set down on your black bedside table. Thank you,

for your handsome chin. For your rashness in having me

over on one of those first uncanny nights without her.

For letting me fall asleep on your unfamiliar sheets

in a house my mother hadn’t died in. Thank you

for your ignorance of my loss & for waking up

with morning breath. For your unwarranted trust,

& for letting me park the rusted mini-van behind your truck.

Your tasteful & chaste white-trimmed boxer briefs. Adam,

the worst had happened. Thank you for persisting past my grief.