Matches

We were young the day you said 
you were ready to die.

We discussed our deaths, the ways.

I think you wanted something bloody—
It’d be their mess then, you said,


flecks and pools of dead blood so full it’s black,
running down the channels of grout between the bathroom tiles,

like what God did to those rivers in Egypt,
the worst of miracles.


And the best part, you said, It'd be there in the mirror too,
and they would have to see themselves seeing it.


But I said I would like to be outside
on some seaside cliff.
The curve of the earth would be there
and the sun would be there too, when I jumped,
so I wouldn’t be alone when it happened,
and I could take my time easing into it.

My nerves would cringe,
 wrap themselves around me
but then it’d be okay,
because I’d feel a little shift somewhere,
I’m not sure where,
like someone striking a match in the wind
and watching it catch the very first time.

— 2009