[lately I’ve been…]
lately I've been checked out find myself on the third
train home biting the side of my mouth until blood but
how did I get here feeling driven to punch a face a wall
I am I say in a bad way I stand outside the gym with
a violent name while sirens paint my body I am attempt-
ed offered chicken through smoke in exchange for what
I cannot get ahold of the person I need hands too busy
lifting I wake up in a bed with only the small lights on
cat on my belly but I can't locate the rumbling I made it
through this October unlike last year thought myself
lucky past it laughable still plenty of fall in which to drown
[if I’m still here…]
if I'm still here after can remember all of arriving
at winter let me just say the desert means nothing
to me to me trauma happens in a lushness with my face
toward trees which are yes dying but for now so full
& when I squint I get a sky of pennies a change jar
easy to lose myself in the retching continues the train
is late I am over the yellow line releasing coffee oat-
meal sprouted lentils onto the tracks I worry no one
oh my pills goodbye to the little tubes of them the family
of secrets hiding inside his insistence I'll forget his need
to ask me more than once did you take them today
lately there's a lot that wakes me up makes me push
open a window circle the house retracing what's been
asked of me by people who shouldn't have asked
[I know someone…]
I know someone no doubt remembers me only
in a green dress doughy & believing I'll never
sleep or love again a stranger's narrow mattress
the air turning what was kept private then like
where she put her mouth & if she put her mouth
there you can't I say keep everyone like it'll
help lately I am grieving a loss long lost
struggling to keep anything down remember
the way I get from one spot to another & when
it's time to reenter the body there's a basket
an aisle of beans to navigate or a credit card
receipt in need of my signature I am in need
of remaining in one pieces don't want to write
this anymore of when I bled & bled summoning
snow there were no friends with the right-
sized pupils to tell am I in hell I asked myself
mindlessly burning grilled cheese sandwiches
my fingers when striking a match candles lit
in memory of the never-known state lines
crossed after losing power I stayed in an
arboretum where the seasons hadn't yet
changed there was a person who could hold
me there & did as I dissolved I say next
year like there's any certainty like I'll feel
any different lately I scrub the same stretch
of kitchen counter until I'm told to stop
[I rembember nothing...]
I remember nothing of it only the jaw's ache
left from biting down sore temples which they
can pre-treat next time which is always the day
after tomorrow no-skid socks at the bed's end
& on my hand a scar lately I feel simultaneously
likeva plant in need of light & light that can't wait
to get out attention attention dinner is-- salmon
with certainty the presence of a pork chop would
shock me now see what I did there it all becomes
a game small songs sung in the halls kept fluorescent
even when I wake at three some mornings I'm worried
I'm giving away what I've been given when each
Thursday begs the same questions I count change
name presidential hopefuls I tell you what's happened
& what I'm here for in my own words there's a part
of me that knows everything this is the part I show
Saying It
but you just got married. don’t you love your life?
what happens on fridays? you should know you look
better. you’d been looking, i don’t know, dim.
we missed you. oh, there you are. i was talking about you
like you weren’t even here. what are you on?
do you have a name for it? do they put you under?
will you write about this? you don’t have to answer, but
the hospital february i wanted to die
yes it’s complicated treatment thank you
well yeah thank you hello i know it’s how i am
prozac abilify ativan they call it persistent
no yes no where do i begin
the hospital look at me
Anna Meister is author of the chapbook NOTHING GRANTED (forthcoming, dancing girl press) & holds an MFA in poetry from NYU. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Kenyon Review, DIAGRAM, Public Pool, The Offing, & elsewhere. A recipient of residencies/fellowships from the Saltonstall Foundation for the Arts & NYU, Anna lives in Des Moines, IA & at www.anna-meister.com.