A Poem: Say

Death has a certain allure, she says.

she speaks of the swerve of the steering wheel into brick, the step taken in front of a car, the pills lining themselves on her bathroom counter like ducklings for their mother.

but those are not ducklings,

you plead with her.

these heaving lungs need to heave longer, broken angels

while I battle for lives,

I near forget mine

I keep remembering the rhythmic pounding

his breath on my face,

the putrid smell of

unholiness in musk

and damp,

his eyes alight, closed in

me and what he is taking

the moment I realize

he believes he owns

the most raw

the most sacred

and that moment

that doesn’t leave

when I wonder if he does.

but him, I say.

but you, they say.

there will be time. grieve

but do not grieve yourself

for you are vital in this

space we call home

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