remember turning each other over under water
lamp at

the bed &

all we had to do was stuff horses
into bug masks

dog pills through a syringe

When something wasn’t allowed we made
space for it

               driving home wearing
your glasses
smelled like you at the stems

                              Was I counting shadow spots a deer could
slip on the road

        How could I explain dents my parents
                knocking on the wet window

Car flattened through a field

in my coat beside
high school

Taneum Bambrick is a poetry MFA candidate at the University of Arizona. She was a recent intern for Copper Canyon Press. Her work appears in The Nashville Review and New Delta Review.