no one thinks
of going to the parking lot.
to sit in its emptiness 
witness a liminal space
receive an end.
we always had
too much time
and never enough
parents between us.
we drag our teeth 
through each other’s 
cheetos-lined fingers 
and count grids 
no cars will sit in again.
i hook my finger 
into the loose stitch, 
pull at the boundary 
of the sky. blush
yarn clots in my palm 
like a hairball. 
there’s no need 
for a thing of joy now. 
i will never have to 
take the bins out in the rain. 
i will never need to know 
where to drop the bins. 
it will never rain. 
the sirens screech. 
we say each other’s names.