I flew apart when you left.

Not when your suitcase clenched its teeth
(damn that wide, black grin)
or when those silver-toed hooves galloped down my stairs
or during thank you
or hugging you tight
or while I stood on the sidewalk in my socks
and didn’t blink
until the two of you were out of sight.

Bones slipped
skin stretched
doors hit the floor
when I spied that one green bean
in the kitchen sink.