One (Sarah Crossan)

Selfish

We have to talk about The Church,’ I say

as Tippi and I lie

side by side

in bed.

‘You’re upset about the cigarette.

God, Grace.’

She sighs

and I feel

for a moment

so much

younger than her.

‘I think we should have discussed it,’ I say,

not needing to remind her

that

this shoddy body

never split like it should

and that if she dies,

so do I.

‘Sorry,’ she says.

‘So can I smoke?’

I turn my head,

curl away from her

as best I can.

It isn’t really a question:

When Tippi wants something

she takes it with

two hands

and

with a body that belongs to

us both.

I know this should make me

angry,

but

all I feel is envy

because I so wish

I

could be more selfish

sometimes

too.