Things i can finally afford

Avocadoes, twist of flesh from the pit, and the snap
of asparagus, bruised where it flowers, and eating

three meals like a ritual, like saying grace, the fridge door
opening onto a garden, not a white hospital cell, and leaving,

at fear’s first chirp, in a taxi, with a suitcase, not barefoot
with my life cupped like an insect in my palms, and going,

to London or the dentist, watching landscapes unfurl
like fresh sheets, clutching a ticket in my pocket, and silk,

real silk stockings in a room of my own. They flow
over my raised hands like water.