16--will you
when I’m gone, will you howl to the moon,
scream, demand she leave your
dreams be, a blank wall, an empty room
will the white orb reflection in the water be
my dead and bloated face
will you shave your head to forget me,
sob, spend the next week on your
hands and knees, scavenging for strands
collect stray hairs I’ve shed in a pillow case
you clutch at night
will you rip up everything you try to write,
groan, stuff the pieces in your salty mouth,
swallow them whole in case they
jig-saw their way to me
will you take a melon baller to your chest cavity,
keen, extract the sapling that’s taken root
keep scooping until tissue and lung
litter the floor, stick to the bottom of your shoe
simply, will you fall apart
like I would