The Decade
Ten years ago it was
a long New Jersey night
with a clattering, empty pill bottle,
muddled phone calls,
finally puking blood in the back
of an ambulance.
The EMT's head tilting
as red poured from my mouth,
tilting,
toppling,
a gaze scraping in my skull.
At the hospital
a flurry of white,
the charcoal,
IV spider.
a long New Jersey night
with a clattering, empty pill bottle,
muddled phone calls,
finally puking blood in the back
of an ambulance.
The EMT's head tilting
as red poured from my mouth,
tilting,
toppling,
a gaze scraping in my skull.
At the hospital
a flurry of white,
the charcoal,
IV spider.
It's different now,
something else, other than
a helpless teen,
but the memories are tilting,
toppling,
scraping against my secrets,
and my head tumbles down
as words pour from my mouth.
I dare to survive
a long Florida night.
abandoned doorways,
the ghost of someone's
ghost
leaning against the frame,
looking at me quizzically
or lovingly
or not at all.
These nights are
ancient and untouched
abandoned hallways,
the specter of someone's
spectral presence
walking slowly towards me,
a hand outstretched,
empty
or filled with the memory
of white roses.
These days and nights
are an abandoned room,
forgetting the secret
of someone forgotten,
who still cries over me
or laughs at me
or touches
an abandoned wall
and whispers, "Hush."
