Mother told me to stop looking for shadows,
they were dead, they were gone, they were not there at all.
It’s okay I said, as she tied a yellow ribbon round
and round my wrist and throat.
What is okay? I don’t know. Something must be. Or must be not.
One time I pulled my fingernails in the closet.
One by one, they slid off with ease and punctuality.
I gathered all ten of them,
put them into a matchbox.
Slid it into my pocket and sat down on the floor.
Blood welled from my fingers so I put them all into my mouth.
Suck out the pain, suck out the hate, suck out the regret.
Salt intermingled with rust as mother came in.
What are you doing?
I shook my head,
You have to keep the bandage on, the doctor said.
To make sure they’re there bite your fingers every night.
Pain reminds you’re here, alive, existing, doesn’t it.
You have to make sure they don’t float, disappear, vanish.
Right along with your existence.
I nodded my head.
That’s a good girl.
*I got the picture from some website I don’t remember so all rights for the picture go to the rightful owner!*