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
silver.
There was a girl here and then there wasn’t.
During my not-funeral,
I was nothing
listening
to a body weeping.