**tw's: death, grief**
it's the first sunday of february again
we find ourselves in a graveyard—
the wind kisses the ground into a state of undress—it rained, pools of water
invite narcissus to see what he wants—himself & today
is the dead girl's birthday & this is hell. someone tells
me you can't see a reflection in boiling
water—i walk away. my god, savour the
old scratch & sins of the flesh—
this is the debt, to be alive
is to be plentiful with the unrest. at
least a starless sky is smooth, even
-ing out the evening time—at the
start, the Word—both a god & word at the same time—the word was nothing
until it was named. nothing is created until it is named. The First Sunday Of February Is The Dead Girl's Birthday—logos, against which
the debt is weighed—give your money or
your throat or your child to save
yourself for one more day—just maybe,
the sky will be the brightest blue, the
kind where you have to look away—
& his hands
& their hair & some shadow found my face, what would he
give to take? my eyes
were not enough, even now they hurt
with the holes in the irises. i still want my mother, i still want
to be on my knees in the bathtub,
up to the navel in scalding water. there is
no reflection, nothing to turn away from—
take me back there, &
to when my friend was still alive &
her body shook against mine—i held her—but
now she has died. how
can ribs that i once felt be still?
life. now, be gone—
i say to god, i too have ribs aplenty—take one & make me
a companion too—i'm no adam, but god am i lonely
& tired of being all rib—kick me out all you want but give me someone to go with,
someone to peel me an orange, someone
to blame —make her eve
-n / out the earth atop her, so
my breath isn't bigger than my throat.
until then,
i dig the own images out of my eye—apples &
all—
in his image,
the rain the rain the rain, & look
i can take the last breath for you, write
myself out of this Revenge
Tragedy. it's simple, i walked away.
i do it again here.
there is no headstone—to call it nothing,
that is still a name.
YOU ARE READING
body work
Poesía**for fans of plath, anne sexton & ocean vuong** 'body work' is a captivating collection of poetry that delves into the depths of human experiences, exploring the intricate relationship between the physical body & the emotional & spiritual realms. w...
