I’m keeping lists of the people I love
in the margins of my calendar.
These are the ones who
fill in my own patchy voids.
Their names snuggle on the backs of reciepts
and tuck into the pages of books I will give away.
Syllables marked in pen on the inside of my wrist.
Ink stays longer there, more visible
than anywhere else on the body.
Trapped in neat loops and lines
my people are simple, delicate, cursory
and easy to save.