"
A poet told me
to write about
you. Write it
out, honey.
As if you were
a fever or
a horse to break.
As if you don’t
already show up,
uninvited,
unbeckoned,
into every poem.
Your hand
guides my wrist
as I write this,
even now.
"–Sierra DeMulder, from “And if I Am to Forgive You,”