xxv

i sequence the injury in routine
gravel settling in the scrape-wound
i fill their jars with my blood
i fill their jars with my piss
i fill their jars with my patience
wishing it could mean something more
circular conversation and new medication
memories of taste binding to memories of taste
when will i earn my gentleness again?
i cannot keep peeling my flesh back over bone
smother the tears with sweat-drenched linen
i cannot promise to be any better than this
older selves linger like snakeskin
wishing for purpose beyond decoration
biding time until they’re lost in landfill
unaware that they’re already there
keep quiet long enough and they’ll leave you be
grow nostalgic for hospital window views
codependent for wires tangled up in veins
it’s easy to let go when there’s nothing left to hold
mourn enough and it becomes a chore
embraces replaced by warm water rushing over skin
it’s not your fault that it all comes and goes
forgetting becomes as easy as you let it