May 16, 2006

"All suicides" by Geoffrey Philp

All suicidesare cowards, little sister, for they've lost faithin this rhythm that sustains us through drought and storms, in the surety of the sun trailing off sofas, prickling hairs of the Spanish needle clinging to the umbrella tree's bark, over knives of bromeliad, becoming night—that reminds us, this earth, in time, will right herself.Pull back, little sister,let the bougainvillea's thorns ripenbefore you rake your wrists across its stem. Pull back, little sister, leave the imageof the girl in the shattered mirror, and follow the woman by the door beckoning you to go deeperinto the wilderness where you are, and where we are made whole again.Pull back, little sister, call my namethrough the darkness and say, “I am,”for you have suffered too long and alone; walk through these doors,touch my forehead and I will awaken before the light leaves your face, before you kill yourself.

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