Put your arms down and close your mouth. Don’t
look at me like that. I’m not a bowl of pitless cherries.
I’m not a slice of pie, a piece of something, or worse,
a friend who needs it.
Look again. My eyes are the same. My hair is tied
up with no intention. My unclenched hands are empty,
true, but they are only left free to unlock the door,
let you go, and close it gently behind you.