My father says he has The Gout
and only now do I understand how
he made the disease his own
I have The Sjogren
dry eyes, dry mouth
defying all doctors
No drug coaxes a tear
no meal waters my tongue,
I’ve tried onion cutting, sour sucking,
the sappiest of films
Finally named it
when I found this to alleviate
the grainy film over my eyes
A photo, her face a hands-breadth from his
their eyes oblivious to the camera which has caught
them in motion, her arms extended
resting on his shoulders
She has removed her elbow-length gloves,
and they are folded in half,
dangling from her hands
locked behind his neck
Her teardrop earrings match the rose on his lapel
and the suggestion of a bowtie I can’t see
How irrational, this wrenching, this tearing
I don’t know why it happens
but I would not be surprised
if his boyfriend too
kept this photo in his wallet.
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