To Every Girl I Couldn’t Love Enough

by Elisabeth Otocka



There was a shovel
          around every corner,
                    the heat bloated roadsides
          told me dig.
It didn't matter how deep, what size–
          decay can make a home out of anything;

there were only so many lakes I could avoid
          just to forget that I had a shadow
                    that wanted water–

                    to be a white lily
          floating face up
in a dead river.

I gave my name away
          to a stranger I 
                    didn’t want to know.
          There was a knife–
I don’t remember how

There was a girl here and then there wasn’t.

          During my not-funeral,
I was nothing


          to a body weeping.


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