suicide attemptFrom one side:The tree, a branch,no breath:T-3:19"Do you know where you are?"In the crackling dark,nowhere.From the other:My clothes are sawed off, the forty dollar bra,the skirt from my cousin,trashed at T-3The tube goes sleekly down my throat, they startpumping, still no heart beatand the voice of the doctor goes up,T-2the crash cart, fumbled to my side,the jerk, the collapseT-1The holes in my stomach closing, the tentative beep,the life crept back into a body
pretty girlWhen she runs her fingers through my hair and says,sweet mommy, pretty mommy, I think,I taught her that. The half-smile, the kind,teasing voice, the way she'll give me a minuteand shake me. There are things in this worldthat must be done and we don't have the rightto leave it a road half-builtfor her, good-hearted,and bursting to grow intotomorrow.
the things we would missIn a dream we were lying on the beach of an unnamed ocean,unabashedly naked in the sand, your body tilted towards mineas you read Written on the Body, and laughed softly becauseyou had seen the smile on my lips, half an eye on the book,half an eye on my golden skin, tilting up, waiting for you toput down the words and kiss me.
conversationsI can't even explain it properlythe real and immediate consequences of a lifelived on the edge, no one pulling you back by your sleeve,loved and laughing and angry,no one saying, no, stop that now,give that to meyou're safe.
stillness of the mindIt isn't dark or uncertain, just somewhere betweenblack and white, you hear news of a baby girlwaiting to be born, talk of going on or off meds, thepremiere of a show you thought you'd seen,the soft sound of a piano in the background, beneath your voice,I want to ask you to call back without sounding needy,I want to ask for a lot of things, like when he asks, What keeps you up at night? andI tell him, I think I'll be alone forever.
sleeplessBeing far away from you makes me morethan alone,in the deep-sheeted dark, the pillows litteringmy body, pressed against my back,I am rubbing my own temples, whispering wordsof comfort in a shorthand mumble,forcing myself to believe that there is morethan what we have scraped upfor ourselves, a holding pattern between us, waitingfor love.