Christine Butterworth-McDermott

Christine Butterworth-McDermott

The Definitions You Taught Me

I make up new words every time

you disappear with your suitcase.

I spell them on the fridge with magnets:

iceloneliness, deepwoundly.

The black and white tiles lie stark

against the shiny surface,

as clear as a black pool. I see my reflection—

the movement of my fingers. I pluck and place.

I rearrange and rearrange

though I know no lexicon

will quench my thirst for sense.