She cries
at the Nutcracker
when the snow

Sitting next
to her
I shift

every part
of me

waiting for the canons,
my finger on the musket
trigger, anticipating

how she’ll swoon
dodging my bullets,
how she’ll drive

us home, explain,
patiently, the plot,
console me; how I’ll

envy the chunk
of cheese she’ll set out
for that giant rat.