tw: death, loss, self-harm, and suicide (generally non-explicit)
i’d begin my vigil on your birthday and stay
till the grass becomes matted
and wilts unto itself
as leaves, snow, and sun befall stone
i’d trace the letters of your name
till grey grooves deepen
and lean into my touch
i’d mouth your epitaph with soft lips and wait
for my breathing to hitch
right before the last word
of your final line
i’d redo my speech verbatim
till our crude jokes sound like poetry
melancholic expression giving my stoic voice
hyperexposure therapy
i’d stop counting days because you
wouldn’t know
that your birthday just passed
and soon mine will too
i’d watch them bring flowers and
leave a hand on my back
i’d be your gargoyle guardian
from life
to after
and back
i’d sit and i’d stand and i’d prick my fingers
on a dying rose
till the branch draws blood
and i can emblazon your tomb
i’d reminisce till i’m dizzy
then forget till i’m drunk
and i’d lie beside you
pacing, tracing, waiting
i’d rub the braid of embroidery thread
between my cracked fingers
and fiddle with the bead
and imagine you’re also reaching
for yours
until one day
sometime- maybe mid-year
i’d let my knife slip
deeper than usual
and i’d decide
in the second it takes for the
string to snap
that life was far too long
to stay;
so our birthdays would pass
but by then
i, too, wouldn’t know that they did.
– ammarah siddiqui