In the days of her death wish,
my eyes were fixed, open
my life
a watchtower
I couldn’t stop
looking down from.
She couldn’t be
trusted even to sleep
separately then
though we’d locked up
so many things:
belts that seemed
innocent
before her
the well-meaning medicines
electrical cords
in their tyranny of tangles
her scarves/my scarves
the noose we found
when we searched
her closet
two deluxe Swiss Army knives
a handful of bare blades
she’d extracted
from her plastic razors
all our shoelaces
in a messy, little pile
dental floss, reeking of mint
keys to all four cars
and every pair of scissors
in the house
no matter how small.
I lay beside her
in the dark
to watch, weeping,
while she kept on
breathing
against her will.
I worked so hard
to give her life.
She worked so hard
to hand it back.
From: http://quidditylit.org/issue-11-2/fbell/
Date: 2018
By: Francesca Bell (19??- )
