A pretty girl got seven stitches and watched while the
Needle wove through her arm
A pretty boy broke her heart and she forgot to be angry
A pretty father and a pretty mother in a big, beautiful house
Sobbed in the night and clung to each other like soggy paper mache
The girl wore hospital socks and turned over the underwire in her bra
Staring at the green curtain clanking against the metal track above her
Praying for an ambulance man that would never come
And a god that would never save her
She stopped praying
And got the stitches removed seven days later.

there was another mass shooting.
—where?
california.
—school?
bar.
—kids?
college students.
—how many.
12.

then silence.
and we go on with our day.

they say it together, as if on a split screen:
on one side, his pale pale skin and my most favorite combination of brown hair-blue eyes
all angles and chapped hands
but he is unholy now, our shadows have marred his face
and pushed him away from me until i feel the sunlight on my skin
again and
bear the cold of winter.
on the other side is you.
sloping body and cappuccino skin
your lips curve up at the ends and you are strong baby, the powerlines to my city
but you're saying it too
with venom and hot water and i am reminded of why
i wanted to be left alone,
the past and present can be so cruel
when they they begin to meld into the same person.