Tonight I walk down each isle, searching for something simple to make for dinner, when I haven't slept since Friday and the fluorescent lights make my head pound and eyes squint and each blink lets me see the fall again.
I watched him perched on my third floor balcony, 2:30 in the morning, gripping
the edge of the roof for balance, tempting me to join him.
I watched him, locked in a stare, like he was trying to memorize each branch and
twig of the tree in front of him.
I watched him shout off each thing I said to him, each threat I made, and push off
the edge.
I watched him fall, thirty feet, through the brittle branches of the pine tree to icy
ground.
And now, his skull lined with fractures
And now, his brain lined with blood
And now, bruises paint his eyelids like a cheap whore.
I would pray for him if I had a god, crouched and waiting, like he was that night,
tempting me to join him.
I would cry for him if I wasn't so tired, so angry, trying to think of anything but
the brown snow patch and fallen branches outside my window.
I would sit by his bed, not looking at his piss bag, morphine drip, scabbed
forehead, swollen face.
But now my stomach pulls me back to the supermarket, down each isle, scanning the shelves for something simple.
