All the things between us were ugly for a long time.
We met early
and loved late.
We’d disappear and reappear like creations between matter
and socks.

I’ve languished between you and every man you’ve loved since you were 15.
How are our memories so beautiful?

In a South African township overrun by children who will die early
I met a mother.
She collected the casings of the nine bullets that killed her son
then melted them down and made the only piece of jewelry
she wears.
Strangers tell her how beautiful it is.