Author: Elizabeth Maynard

This little pill
twists me ever so

Repels the unseen
and a feverish unimaginable

There are ways to hold a person
and ways to crush them

What is my     toxicity
I ask, arms itching

Like all humans
I want to see myself good

Climb out of the pit, trench, grave
I dug for myself

Weather swift-changing
lifts hearts distant to recall
each one now long lost

The critic sat, tapping thin fingers
on desktop and table
assured herself she was not cruel:
we should, in fact
be grateful for her every effort
to dismantle

In a world of words
you pick a simple one
indicative, precise
not that or another
sometimes diminutive
others grand
but always, ever The

Sea swell hid us from each other
kicking hard to stay afloat
tiring ourselves in efforts
to reach light, air
we called for each other's attention
hands, wrists, elbows waving
voices lost in the gathering wind

Marble, granite, slate
I walk these silent cities
with my own breath held

The commodity
you offer, a poor bargain
in place of treasure

Sunshine on shoulders
head, neck, hands, heart hard-broken
now warm to the touch

I look you up
see where and what you are
so I keep a safe distance
In honest moments admit
I look for your obituary
the long wait to end
I wonder what I'll do that day
as I read your death on the page
shoulders shaking
sharp intake of breath
the years-long exhale
as I let the weight of my shame go