It's okay, I tell myself.
It's almost over.
My day.
My week.
My year.
My life.
When will I stop anticipating the end?
When can I finally enjoy something?
Please tell me because I need a little hope.

I.
I breathed in each toxic
story of relatives
departed or deported
that left you with nothing
but gerbera daisies
next to gravestones.

II.
I tried to diffuse
my scholarly ambitions,
to fill in the blanks
on your applications,
to change your histology
to help you evolve.

III.
My body rejected you.
My alveoli ached
to be free and breathe.
My chordae tendinae
were pulled too taut
and tore.

IV.
I caved into myself
with no other choice
but to detoxify.


*November 13, 2014
10:27:16 PM

"speak quietly"

ah, but how would the people
living on the scraggly edge
of the mountain cliff
ever hear us if we did?