POEM: "Grief #346"

Grief #346

I grieve the men I swallowed like stolen pills.

I grieve the nights I tried and failed to purchase a second pair

of legs. A third. I grieve the ease with which I pulled bodies

into my body. I kept them all; I am crowded. I grieve the filth

of the twenty-dollar bill, the G-string’s faded pink, the stench

of my want, the pit stain of my hunger. I grieve the lights on

at last call. I grieve your face, suddenly fluorescent lit. I grieve

the “sure.” I grieve the “why not.” The bodies I begged,

the bodies I borrowed, the bodies I broke and broke under.

I grieve snowfall on a ruined hand mirror. I grieve the men

I mistook for one another and the mistakes I mistook for men.

I grieve the bodies I thought beneath me and the body I became.

I grieve the dawns I killed and the days I slept through. I grieve

the sweat I left behind like a shadow. I grieve every name I called out

in the dark. I grieve that I never, not once, called out my own.

---

If you enjoyed this poem, pre-order my book ALIVE AT THE END OF THE WORLD. It’s one of the best ways you can support an author! Thanks for the love!