Lays out on my driveway, flattened
by the sun in her mirrored sunglasses,
motionless as though prepped for surgery,
her toenails blue, her body washed up
to my doorstep in need of a solution
for life. I’m not me, she said last night.
I didn’t tell her I’m not me either.
Do I look different? she wants to know, inside
after sunning as she presses her skin,
hoping anything under pressure might be our proof.