With love



We keep treading because we do not want to sink.

We hold each other, interlocked like a metal grid,

for fear of tearing up and apart.

Woven in a wicker basket, we carry all of our burdens with us

in pastel Easter eggs hoping they are not found as 

hieroglyphs in our own plaster. Gutted with baby-haired piety

and Stygian endearments, we collapse ourselves in unsweetened 

fondant so that we may believe them ourselves. 

How splendid it is to sing too much

and love each other though it is hard.

Elizabeth Hsieh