a poem to a friend who didn't drop the ribbon

by Anna Berbary







it’s hard to let go of the hand belonging to my grief

after holding on to it for so long; 

feeling its fingers slip away from mine,

knowing it no longer serves me.

i have downed a lot of pills that were

too hard to swallow when learning to heal.



all i ever heard were the words you said, 

the words that made me tie a white ribbon 

around my neck, begging the wind to pick it 

up by its end. but the wind didn’t grab

the edge of my noose, instead

it whispered, live.



at first i didn’t believe the wind, and came

back every day with the ribbon in my hand

just in case she changed her mind.

but she returned, making my 

curls dance around the clouds, moving

them aside so the sun could shine on my face,



and then one day I dropped the ribbon.

and now the arm that i pinned my depression

on like a corkboard only wants to be kissed 

and the only blades i need against 

my skin are of grass. i don’t torture myself

with the songs of Shakey Graves or “White Ferrari.”



i only need to hear the birds outside my 

window and Winston’s purr.



i dive into the worship I finally have for living 


a life you told me wasn’t worth it.







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