Wisps

Oh hell she yelledat history, You donemucked us up —

And she was right, you know,these scars don’t need to be seento be felt: mine are on the fleshy sideof my left forearm—hers behindher temples               to Daphnein the garden of her mind.She was mad at the moon for being bright, for not loving her back.

And I thought how about that—God gave us reason, but didn’tteach us how to use it— being madat the thing for beingwhat it is.

She stubbed her toeon a repressed memory;God damn it

she screamed into the night,                This place is such a mess , and whenI turned around        to console her                 she had been gone                for longerthan I had been alive.