I got in my car and drove west,
police song playing on the radio and sirens, wailing, on my left,
only to stop my car five feet in front of
a dead cow,
gutted and rotten,
bones pecked clean and free by that which I ran from.
The air around it was dead,
heavy on my tongue like fresh rainfall,
and I was twelve years old, in a bathtub,
trying to figure out
how to die.
But then lightning struck and
my power went out and
the cow caught fire.
And then I caught fire.
I couldn’t answer his questions because
there was still ash in my throat
and I was still choking. I was choking.
He offered me a glass of water but
that only made mud pour
over my tongue and through
my lungs,
clogged pores and sinuses.
So now I was drowning in tar and
a hand brushed mine, so I grabbed it.
I couldn’t tell which way was up.
I got pulled deeper.
I died in the lake but they still asked me questions.
I died in that lake and got stopped when I tried to leave.