Sit down and begin to
unravel the secrets you tried
to bury inches deep
within your thigh.

Remember the giddy hollow of
after. How ringing out sheets
and watching Polaroid skin
as bruises, slowly, did sprout and spring
was almost enough to quiet it some nights.
How if only for a breath
you could relish in the rapture
instead of only diving through ash.


Discuss the way it felt to throw
yourself away from the inside out-
reaching and retching and clawing
with chapped twig fingers at all
those vile bits that bloomed inside of you.

You were just uprooting weeds.

You were just casting out veins.

Tell them how it was just like
tossing a coin into a city fountain-
but in reverse.
(and how it's okay to admit
that you still miss the wishes.)