Chekhov's Gun

There they were
pinned to her kitchen's corkboard:
her poem I got in print
and a note from her ex-husband
that accompanied a birthday cake
which I was too stubborn to share.
There were three Chinese cookie fortunes, too--
something else I collect
but I was too jealous
to read them.

We slept soundly
even though her dog
kept tossing in her sleep.

I left before she woke
with the sun angled low
and always in my eyes.

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