Rusted.

He looked at me the way the colorblind peer through kaleidoscopes.

As if he knew there was magic, but he just couldn’t see it.

I used to hide Chinese noodles under my bed in case I awoke famished in the middle of the night.

And that’s how he kept me.

Empty boxes done up in Christmas wrappings, shrouded in bows

until we opened up.

Our cardboard warping and sinking,

Our ribbons all gone gray.

We learned to rust before

We learned to shine.