DECEMBER
and anyway, I never cried. the whole time, not once. God moulded some people out of clay, but I was chiselled out of stone & stones don’t bleed & they damn well don’t cry and neither do boys & somehow I was both I mean, rock & more rock. and I’m saying all this to the carnations by the window & she she gives me that look. The one where she’s clearly thinking about my capital-T Trauma & says, so? so you never cried and, so what did you do? & God, I say, I don’t know. I say, I wrote about grief I say, I wrote out grief I wrote: grief, grief, grief, grief, grief and didn’t stop until I couldn’t feel it anymore. the whole damn year was violence and anger and grief. I think December had moved into my body.
