My father will be embarrassed
My mother will be quiet
Their families will have questions
Their families will look at my husband
With questions, with sympathy, with admiration even
My husband will manage
My husband will not cry, will cry
My husband will mostly just be overwhelmed
Will make a fabulous posthumous spouse
Almost spice
He learned from the best.
My son will be sad, scarred for life
A mother who kills herself, stays with her son forever.
My son will have questions
My son will not be quiet
My son will always wonder why
My son will make up answers
The family will forget soon
But before that
The family will be curious
The family will blame everything
The family is bored
The family will look at my work
At my friends
My friends will be confused
My friends will wonder why
My friends will look at each other
My friends don’t know my other friends
And wonder where I met them
My friends all think I have so many friends
I could have surely reached out
Was there no one?
“Call me if you need anything”
“I’m always here for you”“You should ask them”“You should say no”“You should not have…”“You should …”
My friends all think I do so much
All the time.
My friends think I’m busy.
My friends.
My friends think I do so much
Only for them.
But maybe they think, not enough for everyone
But maybe, they think only for others, not them
My friends think I’m “interesting”.
They think I put people at ease.
They also think I make people uncomfortable.
My friends think I’m so happy.
My friends believe in plurals outside them
And in that renewable, sustainable, inside me
And in the invisible.
My friends believe in answers and curiosity and judgment
I believe in questions. But not asking them.
I am in no rush to prove anyone wrong.
I’m in a low key, grey zone.
I know all the names.
I looked them up.
Read up on others’ stories.
There is a boy so far away
who might be a little shaken
But would keep going, because that is the easy thing to do,
because what will people say
“She was a strange one, a nice one, but a weird one I suppose
Defective. I miss it. But so broken. I don’t get it.”
This boy hasn’t seen a leaf fall in his life.
And then the other one who has been picking up after everyone else’s fallen, rotten leaves
He would have wanted me to call him,
exchange non-essential details.
But anything but this.
This is too heavy.
This is not a leaf.
My dog will be hungry
No, anxious
No, lonely
He will be lonely.
Anything to be in the same room with me.
Me too, babe, me too.
And I will be a blue flower
somewhere in the wild
For a brief moment.
More insignificant, than small.
Reincarnated. But still K.
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