-

(I am going to miss you so very much.)

239. This time, I put out the fire.

For all of our synchronicities and golden threads,
I have not even seen your hometown.
I'd like to learn about the sounds
your chest makes, what elements exactly
are needed to create such a person.

The morning finds my crown
on the floor. When we are good,
your body is the hand of a clock
striking into my hour and we are brilliant,
explosive, all of the fireworks
brought to the party. When we are bad,
it takes you longer to make your way back
to me and I search your skin
for the remnants of other people.

Inhaling, I taste you in my throat.
One of us is the trophy, here.

238. 2013

January.
Being eaten alive,
my mother's suicide,
all of the cake and disappearances
after.

February.
My birthday.
The sound of a crash
coming from the kitchen.

March.
Counting years (ten, nineteen).
When he left, they told me
I should celebrate.

April.
The names I gave myself
and the places I forgot them
in.

May.
There is too much quiet
here.

June.
The sun found my skin
again. Discipline. I do not know
where I am.

July.
I burned your life
to the ground.
I'm sorry.

August.
I am almost far enough
away.

September.
Cancer, a body covered
in blossoms.
Help me be better.

October.
Nobody ever stays dead.

November.
Filling holes in the front yard.
I don't mean to love you still.
Turn red, turn
white.

December.
Honesty
that we are done
outrunning. Finally,
finally.