Regifted, or How to Deliberately
Discard Something Given

Battlefield strewn with pockets
of distended muscle, we were
armed with uncocked pistols
and shield made of stretched pigskin.

I met you at dusk. Repeating nights before, crafting
little would-have-beens out of clay and sweat and spit.

I drank until I was full, mouth bloated
and belly sticky from sour wine.
I drank until my fingertips numbed
and my greed was expected.

To hold your namesakes in my hands,
to let them slip through my fingers,
unsolid, unlike flesh, was not enough.

I wanted to take from you
what they had taken from you.
Forceps, or something stronger.

Given what we called ourselves,
I think we would have named
our sons after warlords,
our daughters after shipwrecks.