"qu"

Pry it apart, the way you’re taught to do
with most good things—
                                     poems, a cow’s eye, pairs
of polynomials—
                          and watch it go
from sounds as round as the river-tumbled quartz
you nestled in your palm last week, as if
it were an egg,
                       to cold, metallic as
the cliq of girls who smack their gum and click
their red-nailed thumbs on qwerty keyboards.
                                                                   Has
it ever occurred to you that people change
when separated?
                         Find someone, something— Let
it glue itself to your right side, smooth down
your brittle front, round off your jagged edges.

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