Menstruating

So right now – it’s possible I’m already dead.
And all I’ve left behind me are books half empty
pages lazily entered
maybe a date and a few first sentences of suicide notes.

I avoid sleep – I’m not sure why.

Before I woke up this morning to anxiously awaited blood on my sheets, I dreamed I had a baby girl; and I was so happy to tell all the nurses that my baby was wobbling and shaking because both of her mothers were dancers.
But I don’t have a lover – and I don't remember how to dance.
In retrospect I think the reason my baby was shaking was because she had no bones.
She had big curly hair and no bones.

Waking Up

Made art in your bed
In my sleep
This morning
None of it was very good – “these sheets are anarchists”
It gets too cold without you in them.

I look at your fathers flowers - your smile underneath
I’m going to buy a ticket today
Maybe write a letter to a pretty girl – I wonder about our postal possibilities…
I pretend to do math with my chipped painted fingernails.

Mary said “You are really in it Zoe; you are so in it.”
I might agree, but I don’t believe it matters.

Time is two teacups in your window sill.

Your plane could still be in the air.
Or maybe you’re already there.
Maybe you are eating good food and making good talk with your good friend.
You could even already be walking up the stairs of your house
– warm with your sweet family.
Maybe you’re telling stories to your grandchildren.

Sleep is so deceiving

I took some music from you.

I will miss you until today