Wrong

The sleet is hitting the glass

like handfuls of grit.

In the window of the hardware store,

I look like a coat hanging on a hook.

My shoulders have... well, they’ve given up.

I remember the car.

The heater was blowing nothing but cold.

You clicked the lighter—

that little orange eye opening in the dark.

You said I was beautiful.

I laughed until I choked

because my nose was running

and my hands were blue.

I thought you were trying to see

how much I would swallow.

Or maybe I just didn't know the word.