Suicide Note

I am slick

bear grass on an alpine slope,

the talons of a red tail

hawk. I am cottonwood

bark floating in an eddy,

a double rainbow

over Flathead Lake.

I am cool granite

skin, the raven’s caw, a mist

on Marias Pass. I am

comets, the moon, my father’s

ash. I am bloody,

the swatted mosquito. I

am frost and dust,

a gravel road,

the embers of a forest fire.

I am fresh turned dirt

in the April sun. I am the reason

you fear the dark. I

am licorice, baby, and whiskey

breath. I am leather, iron,

sweat. I am cinnamon toast

and whispering voices

that hiss — there is no forgiveness.

I am music that puts you

on the kitchen floor of the house

where you were born.

I am Christ, Hitler, Blackie

Marquette, buttercups,

sauerkraut and beer. I am

chemotherapy, cockle burrs on

socks, sunrise over the Mission Range.

I am the bones

of pottery and thunder. I

am wind blowing in stone. I am

changing my name to plastic, cold as

my blood, clear as a storm.

 

for Michael Dorris

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2 Responses to Suicide Note

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