Boxing Champ

The empty conference room,
the parish down the street,
texts that summon people over to my brother's house.

She will ask me to recount how I've been doing,
in this fight.

I've got a couple black eyes, if I'm being honest.

But I get my swings in,
hefty and hard,
sitting in the office,
laughing at the term shaved cats
because a friend knows
about the black eyes.

When I cower under the covers at 9 PM,
find a book that intrigues me,
play that Julien Baker album one
more
time,
the punches landing against this
leaving little cracks and shatters,
just enough to let the light in.

-

I'm fighting, at least.