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today i collected apple seeds for their cyanide
and put them in a bowl i stole from the kitchen. i pushed my head to the ground and waited for God to give me a pestle, be a receptacle for my death. i wanted a glimpse of heaven, for one moment i wanted to step off the dirt and raise my calf past all the mountains and scream at the things i left behind.
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were the most traumatized /
I used to swallow their stories with all the ease / of an untrained fire-eater / their residue, secondhand spit The most beautiful women I’ve known / were the most traumatized-- and me with them / does that make me beautiful, too? |