At night
he leaves his shoes at the door,
kisses the cat on the nose,
wonders if he should live anymore.

Like a child
he pulls the covers to his chin,
but lies awake, convinced he misses me
more than I
miss him.

I never did not love you,
I just loved gravity a little more;
And I always knew you loved me too,
but I couldn't forget
the girls you'd loved before.

Like a child I pull the covers
up to my chin
And hate myself for holding blankets
instead of him.

You used to tell me my own life story
when things stopped seeming real,
and teach my heart to beat again
when my heart could not even feel;
And speak to my blood
when it was aching to be free,
until I listened, and was whole,
still unconvinced
that you could heal me.

At night
I throw my clothes on the floor
as careless as I was with love.
Take a pill to numb the
wound that is my life because
I simply didn't try hard enough.

The result: a heart blackened with grief,
a new appreciation for mourning the living;
I wish I could be his cat, his blankets, his skin,
I wish he believed that I
could be forgiven-

And promise to be my strength
when I don't think I can
and breathe my soul back into my body
when I've forgotten who I am.

(2006)