by Isadora Gruye and Marian Kent
Don’t bother ponderingwhat’s gonna happenbecause it’s no secret:I am coming for you,and you can’t do a damn thingto stop me.
Place those flowers in the trash canand come closer, my sparrow.For weeks, I have watchedmornings dissolve into afternoonsand no shadow as lovely as yourshas ever been cast across these walls.
Forget your lover, your children,your poems yet to be written.Forget the cherry tree you cultivated,forever a sapling to you now.
Forget that my wristssmell of iodine and bandages.Forget that my toenailshave crusted orange from radiation.
Don’t bother giving upyour thrice-daily PBRor try swapping bacon for tofu.Don’t scribble in your journalor make a fine documentarylauded at Canneswith 15 million YouTube hits--The world might love youbut it don’t matter, you don’t matter.
Crawl into my sick bed, darling.Rub your scruffy chinacross my fevered cheeksand tickle my sallow kneesuntil they freckle.Let’s give these blanketssomething other thandeathwish sweat stainsto shake loose in the wash.
No race nor regimen’sgonna help you at all--You don’t even qualifyfor a protracted goodbye.I am coming for youand you can’t do a damn thingto stop me.
And then, we’ll lay still,healthy limbs entwinedwith my own.Knowing full wellthere are worse waysto waste away in bed.
Seems like a good week to share again this collaboration between the amazing Izy Gruye and me, written two years ago. Be well, Gentle Readers.