It was
the staircase in the hospital garage.
It was
feeling sick on top of the suburb.
It was the pull of the estuary
the lake that isn’t a lake
washing up syringes
onto the asphalt where we stood,
barefoot.
It is that fence they erected on the levee,
landscaping,
dead grass in a wasteland.
It is the swan in your backyard.
It is the metronome of the blinker;
smell of your deodorant.
You rub your hands together by the steering wheel
and cross into the suicide lane.
It is your feet in the sand.
It was the moon in your hand.
It was the spool of thread
you could never get the knots out of.
It was the German your mother spoke
Heil, Heil, Heil…
It is the gas, the gas,
das Gas.
"Leave me alone," she says.
"Ich möchte allein sein."
*Es ist der Regen auf deiner Fenstersheibe: weinen, weinen.
Ich weine…
