Some days one must refuse the terrible future

“I will eat everything I love
from its edge to its center.”
~ Marcelo Hernandez Castillo

My friend says it’s time
to use the red lipstick
in its false tortoiseshell
cartridge, time to use up
the sweet almond oil
on haunted skin: clean
the body that lived
decades on salt and water,
that sang its prisoner
songs in the garden.
I didn’t realize how late
the evening has grown—
I was only looking
for everything I’d lost:
for the lucky amulet
of cracked stone
sacrificed to the weeds,
and the silence I drowned
in the well along with
its army of white clouds.
Maybe I am ready to eat
at a table instead of
in the shed, to read
slowly in rinsed womb-
light. Maybe the violin
will climb out of its coffin,
now calmed of its tremors
enough to house its longings.

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