I stood in the parking lot while they broke down the door
and wheeled you, lifeless, yet still alive, to the ambulance
spinning the beads in my pocket
and shuffling my feet nervously.
I gathered your things from the desk
and the bed
and the bathroom floor
because they wouldn’t go inside.
They didn’t see what I did…
the blood and bottles
and the shit and the plan.
Just what I carried out in shaking hands.
And certainly not what I held in my mind
while I stared at the waiting room floor
while you expired down the hall.
Then I went along with the lie
about your heart.
It’s true, after all…
it really was weak and broken.
Just not in the way everyone thought.
And then I let them send you home with me
to live in my cupboards
safely tucked away in the dark places.
You wanted a magnolia tree
but they couldn’t let go
and they couldn’t agree
and they let you languish there
for ten long years
and forgot you when they left.
This last hard year is nearly over.
It’s a good day to lay to rest
the things that are hidden in cupboards.
So I’ll put you to bed with the leaves and the roots
and maybe in spring you will bloom.