I belong with autumn, one
with fallen leaves,
fallen asleep.
I want the quiet, the cold.
I want the night
to steal my breath.
I want others to stop
and listen for my breath,
for my whisper.
I belong with autumn, free
like leaves, free
like death.
I am weight so that I don't wither. I am weight for protection. I am a solid anchor. I am not going anywhere.
Big is unavoidable. Big is seen. Big hurts less. I am cushion. I am insulated.
The most comfortable, the most afraid.
My body feels anniversaries.
With a vertical slice, my body
remembers, and my mind recreates
the yellow, the color of my fever,
the muted color of my rage.
My body feels anniversaries,
and I am the butchered.
I am the barren gardens.
I am the plot device, and
I am still sick.
