For the Potato

I told my parents you won’t be having any potatoes when you come over, you say  as I swallow peanuts one half at a time over the phone. You say things like that sometimes  not knowing how I banged my head when I tipped the scale last summer and lied about it after.

To Turn and Fall

nine and a half meters;  a foreseeable twenty more years,  sixty-three square meters,  and a large sink where she would hand  wash the nappies, never again shall she descend the stairs to a laundry room,  and the vows — about three minutes each (rambling as he would — that an altar has to be so much like a stage)