On Christmas,
He held my middle toe in his big hands and looked up at me saying:

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
And when I nodded, bath water dripped on his open forehead cuts.

From last night’s fight where he slammed his head into the door frame
until it bled and the wood cracked in resignation.
Drunkenly hoping to pass out, he was hoping to die.

But my stubbed toe still hurt and we both knew this was the only time
he’d see my naked body before I left him for the last time.

So I laid down and slept in our bed until it didn’t make sense
to keep my eyes closed any longer.

And the next morning, when I was finally far away,
Sitting on my boxed up, hoarded shit
I watched the sun rise over the ocean
and the only thing I really missed was the cat.