Mar. 17th, 2019
Now, she writes, I might need a shrink.
Or, I always needed a shrink and just can't avoid it anymore.
I think of lungfuls of seawater and I do the laundry; or of organs spilling out like eels onto railroad tracks, and I fold my husband's clothes; or of a thousand, thousand smaller ways to die.
I write back some words of comfort and I don't say oh god my sweet girl, my lovely friend, we've always needed shrinks. I don't say we were in a poetry club together, for god's sake.
I say, instead, don't be afraid.
I will learn to keep a clean house.
Or, I always needed a shrink and just can't avoid it anymore.
I think of lungfuls of seawater and I do the laundry; or of organs spilling out like eels onto railroad tracks, and I fold my husband's clothes; or of a thousand, thousand smaller ways to die.
I write back some words of comfort and I don't say oh god my sweet girl, my lovely friend, we've always needed shrinks. I don't say we were in a poetry club together, for god's sake.
I say, instead, don't be afraid.
I will learn to keep a clean house.