I can see the clenched fist just waiting to spring free
in the tightness of your jaw. This anger of yours,
so tangible in the air, has always scared me.
     Did you know?
I would rather suffer nothing by walking away
that deal with all of this. All of you.
I would feel safer doing that.
     But did you know?
I would rather suffer a blow than let you
walk away with the fist hiding in the curve of your mouth,
with the barely held back fury pouring out of your eyes.

If I do nothing, it solves nothing.
That’s why I risk it all and stand still before you.

In May, the black bird on the beach mocks me
with the death that sits heavy on its bones.
Its beak is open, filled to the brim with the sea,
and I cannot meet its eye with its shining tones.
Now, if I filled myself with the sea it would spit
me out, disgusted that I would try death there,
when dust is meant to return to the land that it
came from. I just wanted to float a little, like air,
which lifted the black bird once, and so brought
it down when it couldn't support a deadweight.
Death knew it was time for me to go, I thought,
until I saw the black bird which death couldn't wait
upon. So even now as Death calls out for me, shaking
with desire, I know the waters are still unwelcoming.

When we move from Texas to New York,
my mother’s smile slowly wilts. But she’s
smart and plucks it from her face before
my father can see.   
    
Do you know why I agreed to uproot myself?
My mother promised me a garden of my own.
My father allowed me one windowsill ***.

Now, I tear my hair out when I’m all alone.
Maybe if I plant it, a better me will spring up
like Venus from the water. For, as I am now,
I am no goddess.

My mother doesn’t stop me, only takes me
by the hand to walk through the city. Her face
is mottled purple and blue in the bright lights.

Plants can’t cry, you know. But they can bruise.
My mother watches videos of her and my father
when they were young. She asks: “Do you love me?"
and he laughs.

I can still remember my lover's name
because it sits on my tongue impatiently;
my heart shouts for joy, too happy to be tame.

The world moves together, all the same,
until my reality shifts, and takes me.
I seem to remember my lover's name.

Now I sit with a body gone lame.
And the rain outside is all I can see;
my heart whispers, too defiant to be tame.

Days bleed into each other - who's to blame?
I recall dry corn husks, and feel just as empty;
I try to remember my lover's name.

"Friends" come to visit, calling me by name,
but I lie and say they're slowing recovery.
My heart hides, too uncertain to be tame.

I know it's a Monday when I can reclaim
my place in the world, but unfortunately,
I cannot remember my lover's name
and my heart cries out, too sad to be tame.

Tonight, Depression is sitting in my nose.
She likes to tickle the inside and whisper
things like, “Don’t you see that your friends
don’t love you? You care too much about
yourself. What have you done this year
To make it worthwhile? You just stay in bed.”

I remember that the last time I made my bed
I sat on top and cried because no one knows
That I have tried dying three times this year
by disappearing into the wall. Always, whispers
follow me: “My daughter and I, we had a bout,
something about leaving with her friends

for good. I told her, ‘I don’t like your friends’
and she looked at me, then went to bed.
I don’t understand what she goes on about
when she complains about her nose;
she says that sadness comes and whispers
from there, and sometimes it leaves by ear.

I told her not to get that piercing last year.
You know, I hate how she listens to her friends
instead of me.” These little barbed whispers
fly swift from her mouth  and put me abed,
unable to face the world that just knows
that my heart is bleeding from a little “bout.”

But then, I wonder, what is all this about?
I sit in the bathtub and get water in my ears
when I meant for it to end up in my nose.
I decide to go under for good when my friends
call me and share their plans from some hotel bed;
they tell me they know how to help in a whisper.

That’s the night I leave, my feet mere whispers
on the carpet. I take everything I care about,
regretting only the fact that I can’t take my bed
with me; if you’ve ever spent an entire year
alone in one place, you know why. My friends
assure me leaving my mother is easy, but who knows?

I watch her sleep and breathe through her nose one last time, and I hear Depression whisper.
She speaks in my mother’s voice, condemning my friends and demanding to know what I’m about
to do. I smile because I know that surviving will be hard this year, but this time I won’t stay in bed.

I breathe in words
like water
and forget -
I am a fish
pulled out of water,
and now I am drowning.

Your liquid mercury eyes,
drawn to the sight of a hiccuping heart
half-exposed through a ragged chest,
brought me close and held me there.

Despite that proximity,
in the end not even my own heart
was cold enough to solidify those
mercurial eyes of yours,

and you slid right between my fingers
forever, leaving only a diseased heart

and renewed dispassion.