yesterday my feet rested comfortably on the bar of someone else's chair
and my eyelids slid heavy and the world seemed slow
a graph of survivorship curves glowing blurry on the whiteboard
and then words slid from behind a neatly trimmed white beard
". . . .as our bodies are programmed to die."

as our bodies are programmed to die.

thousands of miles away
one gleaming thought against a murky sky
(that's how i imagine it anyway--murky, cold,
stagnant air)
a frantic explosion of lean muscle power
and a body launching into the lake.

he was 17 and in that moment gears somewhere in this world shifted,
numbers were crunched and
some profound device processed the seconds, linking and unlinking them with an automatic, well-oiled certainty

he was 17 and the number on his football jersey suited him like wool socks on winter feet
his stride under the lights a weekly prize to all hungry, bleacher-ed, washed-up life-hunters bundled against october-night chill-streaked skies
they drank hot cocoa and he took three sips of gatorade

he was 17 and his smile
and his curls

and we all hear about hospitals but
this feels different because
he was 17 and suddenly,
instantaneously
his body was just a beep
and his skin turned the color of the walls

first the ICU painted quick brushstrokes across his wrists
then it stopped giving a **** at all

and the water rushed endlessly, heartlessly.

when I shift through memories and
find his seven-year old face in my mind, i remember a gap
where he'd lost a front tooth and i remember sunlight streaming behind his hair
it was valentine's day and he gave me a small smile and a silver charm bracelet in a powder blue box.

i shifted my feet
heard the snap of a binder closing
and all i could think about was
the oversimplification of words
and survivorship curves
and 17 years


and
and

piles of numbers spurting from a computer

and an echo of a splash.

I heard about
A man who saw
Holes in wings
Fluttered raw

He looked and said
"More armour needed
But not on the wings
For they succeeded."

"Protect yourselves,
the skies are grey,
but your wings are ready
for come what may."

"But think of 'stead
those storm-caught lovers
whose wings were strong
but the sky smothers..."

"A place inside
those free to be
armour's needed
where you can't see."

"Make strong your mind
your crystal walls,
it's the unseen holes
for which elation falls."

I thought of him
Of the man who knew
That the unseen daggers
Need deflection too

Survivorship bias
The way to know
Those who were hurt
But didn't show

The happy ones
Who live still, while
Those who don't
Aren't shown in their smile

How many fell
To the unseen holes?
How many fly
While the thunder rolls?

Gold has a high melting point,
It can take on a lot,
That's one of the reasons for its value,
You my love, with a heart of gold,
*Are put through all these trials,
Because of your stupendous resilience,
No, I am not happy about it either,
I'd rather have my strength tested,
And just because you can endure something,
You should not have to,
No, you should not,
But I cannot change this reality,
And I cannot ignore the fact,
That you have a survivorship record of 100%,
After everything that has been mercilessly thrown your way,
You stand tall, my gorgeous love
So I am placing my trust in you,
To win this battle,
And I will believe with every ounce of faith in me,
This is the last of the war,
Lasting happiness is on its way