Let’s meet in the aftershop
where nothing slips.
We can talk about grip and lids.

We’ll handle tools
that fit our hands.

You can tell me all about
how to seal things in and out —
sugar and rot —
and how to catch summer
in a glass throat.

And I’ll tell you everything
I don’t know
of friction,
and how things always slid
between my fingers
when they were wet.

“You should dry them, then,”
you’ll say.

I’ll retort:
“Make something that holds me
better when I don’t.”

And you’ll invent it
without a second thought.

And we’ll name that place ours —
where the threads match
and nothing jars.