I walked into the room and there she was
as I walked
into the room and I saw her lying naked and I thought that she looked to me
as if I was dead now staring at her hand over
the side of the bed open to the ceiling like she was waiting
for it to come down and slash her wrists in the flailing moment when I walked
into the room and expected her to be breathing there she was before looking
at her her hand turned upside to the ceiling, not breathing
I held my breath in case she wanted to move from one side to the other
eyes upturned, unfluttered I wanted her to blink at least before mine dried
out in watching her still.
Her robe was tangled
around her torso but it didn’t hide the scar I made on her
I made a scar on her before I had walked into the room
where she had been lying for such a time that the tears dried out from her eyes
now watching now waiting for the ceiling to come crashing in on her
wrists on her hands and knees begging me to do something about it
and I kept telling her that it wasn’t an issue I put that there and away
what came with it only to get taken away from me it took something out of us
maybe this is why I can walk in to a room and find her here like this
like I could always have imagined it
that I can walk into this room without breathing
and know that she was just by looking and not bend over double like a scar
across my stomach which she would do sometimes because the hurt was there
to make her make a double of herself in pain but now watching her fingers uncurled
stone half grasped with her wrist all out in the open her mouth slightly parted like she
was going to say something about how the ceiling was coming apart
how we were coming apart after she had been taken apart.
Sitting at the edge of the bed
and looking through the windows wondering where her life went
if her eyes
wouldn’t close the window closed I could still feel that it was cold
outside I can see it all clearly even though I’ve turned my back on her
and the ceiling
and the floor and everything that forced her in that direction with this weight behind me
how she would look at me if she had been able to breathe this much
further who knows how much earlier would I need to have been to see her look
one last time without telling it to me like this spilled out on the floor to spit it
out into the open without spilling over without cascading down this
slide smooth glass filled to the hilt with choking and bitter-sweet aftertaste stock stared
at staring I can see it now facing one damn cold window morning where she was
before I knew it my senses sprawling out along the floor that I walked in on to find her
scar facing me away from her eyes that I had brought the ceiling down on
wrists ripped wide open
to what she left me rattling against.