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.