No Living Room.

She sits up straighter
On the edge of her
Kitchen chair this morning,
Because she heard someone
Might becoming this time,
And she can’t let them see
She’s afraid her interior is sick.

She sits up straighter
On the edge of her
Living room chair this morning,
Because someone did come
And they said they would
Try to fix her.
And he moved with something steady
Doing all they ever know how to do—
With a scientific method
And a formula of thought,
Slipping words of iodine
From his sleeves and
The pockets of his attributes
Tumbling down the back of her throat.
He warned her kindly of the sting
That cleansing these matters always has,
But promised by tomorrow
She could be good as new.

She sits up straighter
On the edge of her folding,
Balcony, chair, this morning,
Because it’s the day after,
But she has this sinking
Because it’s gone all wrong.
And instead she’s got
These stains all over her heart
And her blood feels too thick
And she sits up so straight
Because she’s trying not to feel it
And she sits-eyes strained-
Watching streets from the balcony
Hoping for transportal osmosic
Exchange, and absorbation
Of the traffic’s movement
Into her own veins.

She sits up this morning,
On the edge of her own bed,
And she feels like she’s disappearing.
And she wonders if maybe
This is why she keeps forgetting
The “I”s in all of her words,
And why she keeps thinking about
What she might say if she
Had the chance,
And what she might do
If she had the strength
And what she might do,
If she hadn’t done any of
This in the first place.
And above all,
In this season of falling,
She can’t help but thinking
It’s no wonder that all
She feels, is that she’s a leaf.