Death in Four Parts

Death in Four Parts

I.
I remember her chest
Rising
Falling

Stopping

Rising.
Her chest rising
Staggered, struggled,
Strained.
Chest falling.

Stopping.


I.V
I inhaled the poison
Bursting through my pores
And leaking into my veins,
Streaking fast to my lungs
And out
Out
Out
Into the air,
Carrying the images of her concave body,
Starched sheets,
Gray face and slacked jaw.
We drove and drove,
The road swallowing our existence.
Our hoods up, the music loud,
The windows down.
Smoke curling and weaving through our bodies
Like gods and goddesses
Wrapping their arms around my body
Swelling with emotions;
I ignore the pain and deflate.


II.
The ceiling spoke to me
In verses of pounding silence
Bruising my body.
Fat tears slid down my temples,
Forming caverns and ravines
Draining me,
Leaving me dry and shriveled.

Like her.


II.V
My eyeliner grew thick
Like vines creeping over my eyes,
Encasing me in a shell.
My clothes grew dark,
My hair grew darker.
Hidden beneath a case of tough skin
Thick like a redwood,
Curving around my body.
I struggled to smile.

I once sat in my car outside the Rehab Center, staring through the windshield.
My hands gripped the wheel
I fought with my tears.
We battled in my head,
Cutting and striking.
My throat ached,
As though a knife were lodged
Between my tonsils.
My eyes grew red
And I bit my lip until it too swelled
And burned bright like the setting sun.

Tears fell
Staining my face.
Was her face stained like mine?

III.
I lay on the bed across from hers
My mother sleeping in a chair
Her feet up on the bed.
I faced the wall.
It may have been blue,
Or white.
My eyes closed slowly
And my body curved into fetal position
For warmth and comfort.

The bed sank down,
As though someone sat at the edge
Next to my legs.
The bed sank again,
A second body.
I felt a chest inhale
Exhale,
Inhale.
I turn my head
To see the visitor,
Only to feel the bed rise,
The breathing stop.

She was not alone.


III.V
I carried a laundry basket,
Full to the brim,
On my hip.
The water fell into the washer
Like the waterfall down the road:
Clean, clear, crisp.
The phone rang,
I stopped and stared at the water,
Reflections and patterns weaved into a sneer
Staring back into my face:
A deer in headlights.
I raced to answer it,
“Hello?”
“You better come soon.”
“As in now?” I asked, my voice shaking,
My hands numb.
“Just come now, it’s going to be soon.”
I hung up the phone.
I don’t remember turning the washer off,
Walking upstairs,
Turning the car on,
And driving on the roads,
Slick with snow and rain.


IV.
She was not alone.
She did not die alone.
I remember her brilliant smile,
Her silky silver hair,
Like smoke.
Her well-aged hands,
Worn from years of stories.
My body trembled as I turned
The wheel.

Something washed over my body,
A hand dripping with warm water.
“Everything is going to be okay,”
She said.

I was not alone.