Elizabeth Forsythe
AFTERWARD, CONSIDERING NIRVANA’S HEART-SHAPED BOX
little echo forget-me-not
a staircase slivered in the dark
the heart in my mouth pulpy
& cold everything tangled
a body kept bleeding
[i say a i meant our]
i was expecting
a torrent//instead call it dowsing
wrapped my wrists in umbilical cords
slipped/slit/stinging in supplication dig
fingertips into the womb until black orchids
ooze from the nostrils
a mantra
wait
i am sorry/i am sorry/i am so fucking sorry