—DO YOU KNOW I’VE BEEN WAITING MY WHOLE LIFE JUST TO HEAR YOU SING?

 

 

Weeping Figs

 

 

After you left, 

I staggered.

I drooled and drooped.  

I stole. 

I arsoned. 

Crashed a plane.

Hit a cop. 

Punched someone’s dad. 

Someone’s kid.

A pastor. 

I ditched my best friend.

Lost a mind.

And I stopped masturbating 

entirely.

 

After you left,

I checked boxes, 

the ones that said 

Widower. Depressive. 

Felon.

The ones that said

Regret. Repent.

Guilty. Guilty.

After you left, 

I pushed the 

bruise some more, 

bloom to bone,

pulse to puce.

I tried to bring the 

plastic fig

back to life but got 

slivers in my gums instead, 

Satan on my tongue, undead.

I scooped a dead 

guppy from the tank,

held it in my palm 

and imagined it was you, 

sweat-slick and sated,

peacefully slumbering on 

the sheets that day 

in May.

 

After you left, 

the trees

turned on me. 

The deer carried machetes, 

the swallows dropped A bombs 

and F bombs 

because they believed 

in us that much.

In hope

that much.

So, I stopped 

eating entirely.

 

After you left, 

I scrolled through our diary, 

all our desecration 

and accusations, 

mopping up 

the bloody screen with

my last hitched-up breath, 

wondering if

Me meant me and 

You really meant you.

 

 

After you left,

I set the table.

Lit a candle.

Watched the wax 

walk it all back, 

so foolish again, 

to think wishing is the 

same thing as doing.