I'm digging in the garden looking for something to bury
a coffin to contain it
and put it away from me
sorting through my costumes for a little black dress and armband to match
with the fishnets that are hoping for an easy fuck to fix it all.
After I punch straight through the crust and out into China
he sits beside me on the couch and tells me to slip on my sadness,
to pull it over my head and wear it next to my skin for the day
-as if sunrise and sunset could be the walls of that box
and the allowing the body buried.
So I do, and it smells freshly laundered
worn and familiar
and ready for the wearing.
What it wanted all along.
A.
