Alison Lubar
I BLOCKED YOU BECAUSE
your face is anaphylactic.
Like developing a sudden
allergy to peanuts makes
every confection a suggestion
of death– even jelly, alone.
Or to shellfish. Now, I avoid
all oceans, lose the ability
to swim, develop a fear
of the bathtub. I adjust to life
without water: danger in
the tap, a molecule of oxygen
one element away from
a closed throat. Now, clouds hold
terror in their low, dark bellies
of waiting rain. Thunder becomes
death-knell. I stay inside. You are
every element and sound—
when you step out from behind
a song on the radio, even a favorite
word, I only know to close my eyes,
hold my breath, and choke
myself to death.