The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Whichever Way the Moon by Mary Ann Honaker

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Covid-19

We who lived as two apples
ripening on one branch,
so close we began to fuse,

now live on opposite coasts.
With your asthma, if infected—
[ I can’t say it ] I can’t

stand by your bedside.
I won’t press my palm
against the protective glass

between me and you.
And oh god if you die,
believe me, I will die too

while still living like a dried
gourd. Shake me to hear
my empty percussion,

my little reliquary of bones.
If death comes wheezing and gasping
for me, I want to but won’t be

under the earth beside you.