How to go on living after it happens to you
A poem
I shaved every place where you been boy
I said I shaved every place where you been
—Tori Amos
Cut your hair.
Stop biting your fingernails.
Bleach the bedsheets twice a week.
Pay off your debts.
Collect several new journals.
Sharpen every pencil in the house.
Clean out the closets.
Get tested for HIV.
Salt and shovel the sidewalk.
Take the dog to suggested appointments.
Memorize your holy book.
Wear an apron when you cook.
Grip your keys between knuckles.
Find the missing socks.
Move.
Buy one loud clock
for every room in your new house.
Each tick will mark you in attendance.
Paint them all red.
Bear witness to their dripping.
Sit up straight.
Floss your teeth before communion.
Murder your womanhood.
Replace any dead batteries.
Laugh when others laugh.
Use a grapefruit knife responsibly.
Baptize yourself each weekend.
Scour the name whore off your forehead.
Chew and swallow food.
Save the entire planet.
Create and kill more cells.
Gasp for a deeper breath.
Hold a machete to your throat. Pause.
Remember you still own
candles that have never been lit.
Cover image by Alex Boyd.