she speaks of the swerve of the steering wheel into brick, the step taken in front of a car, the pills lining themselves on her bathroom counter like ducklings for their mother.
but those are not ducklings,
you plead with her.
these heaving lungs need to heave longer, broken angels
while I battle for lives,
I near forget mine
I keep remembering the rhythmic pounding
his breath on my face,
the putrid smell of
unholiness in musk
and damp,
his eyes alight, closed in
me and what he is taking
the moment I realize
he believes he owns
the most raw
the most sacred
and that moment
that doesn’t leave
when I wonder if he does.
but him, I say.
but you, they say.
there will be time. grieve
but do not grieve yourself
for you are vital in this
