I knew a woman all too well
and not at all
a woman who was selfless
she devoted her life to her dead self
and I never got to know
where she had been buried
the first time
*
this woman called my name
as she died
*
when she opened her mouth
her voice tried to reveal
her body’s truth
but the words were sterile nails
*
she never let me in
because she presumed
that I’d drown in the depth
that had torn itself into her
*
deathbeds are real
*
her voice was destroyed
because she stopped singing
because she stopped singing
Croque-Melpomene 