(17 December 2018)
Go back in the house and stay warm.
There may be places where you can ice skate
or you can leave
and go to school
or go south,
maybe go to California.
What other possibilities?
Besides leaving, you mean?
You could stay there,
and write these things.
There’s nothing romantic about hospital food or gowns,
cotton worn thin by bleach and bodies before yours,
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with too much jam
that will– for years – remind you of flying chairs,
a pretty twenty-two-year-old standing with her foot in the door
while you shit, watching you read and sleep and rock and mostly stare
a hallway of locked doors your fingers itch to open.