I had a man crush on you before I was a man, a high school senior

stuck in between popping pimples and failing math, because even

though you just moved to a new school, still dripping in Minnesota

loveliness, turquoise eyes sharper than the depths of every Great

Lake combined

ANIRUDDHA AGATE received his MFA from the post office in Hippo, Kentucky. His work has appeared on the shoelace of a 1991 L.A. Gear high-top sneaker, inside the last acorn

stored by a wintering chipmunk, and in a cluster of thistles blooming on Vince Vaughn’s

front lawn. He is currently at work on a handstand.

I remember you at thirteen,

smoke-singed, scrawny

as a witch, an embryo

mortared in your gut.