Six and Twelve
My skin is pigmented from milk and ash -
and too much peach blush to change that tone -
(I don't know if its a side effect
or a symptom.)
I have the date circled on my calendar;
the one that shakes on the wall when the door slams.
Six months ago
a house of limbs divided.
Six months ago I died -
candle wax anniversaries and I'm raising my glass in a toast
toward gentle paramedic boys with tender fingers
fluttering over a dead girls wrists.
I don't really remember my twist back to life,
just the glass
and the clouds
I could be called a newborn again
already twenty years into life.