Counting Backwards

When I could hardly move for heat
And explained I was trapped in the room
Like butter in a skillet garlic-ready
Because I’d caught a wasp between
The window and the screen, which was hiding
But would strike if freed, you talked
About ladybugs for fifteen minutes, hunters
Of the crunchy insect kingdom, told me
They bleed from their knees when startled.

At noon when lunch broke we hid
between the library shelves,
trading crackers.

You long for purpose.
Everything in your life traces back to death;
You hear its black rattle in every summer sweat.
When I asked for lilies you strung purple flowers
Through my hair, your Ariel, your Polaris,
We crash together like badly-timed tides,
Like the silver balls of tabletop physics toys;
Your whines fit my clock as a second-hand
Annually, bi-monthly, thrice nightly ticking.

Maybe I trip on every stair now
because you no longer watch
me climb them.

When I feel I have at last begun to live
Your voice kills me, and I remember the absences,
Bury slow fingers into the nap of tiled hallways,
Phone calls that traipse into the next afternoon
With batteries playing substitute for the scissors of Atropos.
Your scared shoulders and ever-presence flavor the coffee
I still won’t drink, bring it to a boil that fogs
A morning steam to replace my pillowed brain.
I rub the muddy grit into my already caffeinated eyes.