Grace JoyLynn Anderson

biding time until the spring arrives

biding time until the spring arrives

lightning strikes in the barest of places. twelve pm on a warm april

thursday. clarity, the bag in my mother’s room. clarity, those words

on the computer screen. clarity, slipping white spheres, sipping on

water. 

and i thought of that clarity until she said stop. i can’t take it in the

funniest of ways. april bled to the sheets, stained red and it was so

fucking hot. take me away. take me away. call me to the roof and i

will jump.

and so i dream of driving cars; i dream of twenty-one and hopping

bars and i can’t even drink. i failed my driving test last week and in

april it was august and she left a lifetime over. she came back with

a broken hand.

i thought, i want to do that to you. i have never loved anyone in this

way. in august my hand was bruised, not broken. i ate shrapnel and

white glass in a hospital room. they took me away and put the skin

back on my body.

oh god, never let me love this way again. put me away again. take my

skin again. pull the bones from my fingers. kick me off the roof — all

my insecurities died with me. never tell me i am good at this the way

i am good at biding time.