beth israel

i’m sitting in a hospital waiting room. old bodies and canes and walkers and spotted skin. young bodies too, with tapping feet, anxious friends, and worried families.

i’m waiting for her to go in, to go under, to come back. i love her so. my chest swells and eyes well. i think of her there in that big bed, so tiny in the rumpled blue gown. i had held her hand. saw those green eyes go glassy as the meds dripped, so cold and clear, into her arm.

by now, the scalpels chink and forceps dig. blood, gauze, and suction. a mask on her face. slow breath and heartbeats.

Paradox Me

how can i possibly explain to you that
somehow i am both ends of the magnet
and every day i crawl into your arms with a
rope around my neck
screaming softly in your ear
that i love/hate hating/loving you

and no

i don’t get why
two days ago i rubbed my arm with an alcohol swab to clean off the blood from a
mistake but not an accident
i don’t get why i mop up the mess as i make it

and no

stop telling me to not let the demons win
demons will go away with 100 mm or 200 mm and maybe nausea call me in a week
because there’s only one demon and it’s me
every day

finger to  my lips, you slip the rope off my neck
polarize me until the room stops spinning

palisades parkway

i cry in the car
because i have nowhere else
to do it.

i only saw it for a second.

the deer had lifted her head,
eyes widepanicked
as she tried to stand
with broken legs bent beneath
and hips twisted backwards.

she must’ve been hemorrhaging inside.
blood pooling and swirling around
a broken spine and femurs and ribs.

blunt force trauma’s a bitch.
she probably died right there
on the side of the parkway.

and i drove right past.
i drove right past
and so

i scream in the car
because i have nowhere else
to do it.

i only saw her for a second.