From Histories Haunt Us:
“Self-Portrait As Someone You Might Like To Meet”
Because I like to arrange pills in patterns
before I take them.
Because there are no elephants here.
Because I’ve mentioned elephants.
I was broken–I’ll say it plain
and that’s what you’ll like,
the plainness, smooth
face, pop of blue in the eye.
I read ’til I was green again
(new and ill and envious).
It didn’t work but I kept going.
The words weren’t enough
and neither is this.
From Splitting Off:
“Dreaming Your Anaphylaxis”
In a parkette, on Bathurst, a bench
I passed by chance. You and the swelling,
foreign protein, one more reaction.
How many times have I asked
how to work the EpiPen,
which end to open, which to stab you with.
The chest will not quite fall.
Something this obvious–
respiratory distress, the city,
a black X marked on your skin–
waits behind the eyes like a bruised hip
under corduroy jeans.
Evidence of something real,
panic and the bleak collapse of circulation,