Fall had fallen into place,
dishing swaths of gold and red leaves
that crunch beneath dead grass
and unevenly poured sidewalks.
The thinning maple trees
waved skeletal branches.
It was a brisk Seattle afternoon.
A sadistic thief stuck me in the heart
with heartache’s arrow
from a bow of contempt.
She declared victory, assaulting
my shame as she wore a flannel,
long brown boots,
and lipstick with glitter.
Kayla’s coverup didn’t cover her eyes,
which screamed infidelity.
She unthreaded my self-esteem
and cracked a mirror that defined
my well-defined jawline.
I dragged my sorrows
in a sea of crashing waves,
citing hopelessness as the reason
that forever would never change
the weight of endless second chances
breached a dam, clinging to my intuition.
Kayla tossed me more than a lifeline.
More than the clothes on her came
came off as she dove headfirst over
the edge, clearing the ledge,
to calm the cracking waves.
Like a thunderstorm, the water ended
suddenly, with drips still dropping to splash,
puddles of frustration.
Planning one step ahead of September,
I knew I’d make her wet.
Kayla struggled to guide me back to shore.
She pinched my nose, and my lungs expanded
as I coughed up salt water.
I batted my lashes open
to dark green eyes cast over my lips.
Kayla squeezed her eyes shut
and huffed above me as though she’d saved
me from the jaws of death.
We talked about what I saw.
She reminded me she had a twin sister.
So, I saved her from the curse of loneliness.
The day I planned to die was the first day of my life.