At 10 a.m. she came knocking
at the entrance to my cave.
"I know you're in there," she said.
I was in there, in a darkness
only bears and bats understand.
"Jervermerner," I said.
I let her in. She was wearing
a denim skirt and lavender blouse
and smelled like fabric softener.
"You promised me a walk,"
she said, and raised the room's
lone shade. "And open a window!"
It was the 13th anniversary
of my 13th suicide attempt
and I'd spent the night re-enacting.
"Get your pants on," she said,
"you promised we'd go out today."
I struggled into a pair of jeans.
We spent the afternoon walking
thru the city. I could barely see,
could barely move my feet.
"I think I have to throw up,"
I said. "Go ahead," she said, "I'll wait."
"No," I said, "it's passing, I'm ok."
She talked about our cats,
her parents, the bills, the job,
and some new band.
When we got back to my place
it was dark. "I have to go," she said.
The lawyers took care of the rest.