Did tear along. Did carry the sour heave of memory. Did fold my body upon the pillow's curve, did teach myself to pray. Did pray. Did sleep. Did choir an echo to swell through time. Did pocket watch, did compass. Did whisper a girl from the silence of ghost. Did travel on the folded map to the roaring inside. Did see myself smaller, at least, stranger, where the hinge of losing had not yet become loss. Did vein, did hollow in light, did hold my own chapped hand. Did hair, did makeup, did press the pigment on my broken lip. Did stutter. Did slur. Did shush my open mouth, the empty glove. Did grace, did dare, did learn the way forgiveness is the heaviest thing to bare. Did grieve. Did grief. Did check the weather, choose the sweater, did patch the jeans worn out along the seam. Did purchase, did pressure, did put the safety on the scissors. Did shuttle myself away, did haunt, did swallow a tongue of sweat formed on the belly of a day-old glass. Did ice, did block, did measure the doing. Did carry. Did return. Did slumber, did speak. Did wash blood from the bitten nail, the thumb that bruised. Did wash the dirt-stained face, the dirt-stained sheets. Did take the pills. Did not take the pills. Cut the knots from my own matted hair. Copyright © 2020 by Jessica Rae Bergamino. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 9, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets. |
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