8/18/05b

I wrote the following poem the night I got home from working the case that I am going to write about later today. The woman who killed herself had agoraphobia.



Shame


She sits on the floor
Naked
Bleeding
This just won’t do

She lines up the knives on the bath mat
Five blade edges all facing west
She fills up the tub
Washes herself off
All but her feet

She puts on fresh clothes
Swallows a vial of pills
She’s got plenty more
That she didn’t take
Until now

Goes out to the garage
And wonders what to use
To take her to God

She hopes He’ll understand
One can’t be expected to live this way
Crazy

She looks around
Smiles
Christmas lights
And here it’s July
Funny

She goes outside
She’s not afraid this time
This last time
To leave the house

She gets the stool
It’s shady, here.
No grass grows under this tree
Just dirt

She climbs
Smiles
Looks down at the lights
That circle her neck

And thinks that this is her Christmas tree
And thinks that the grass is dead
And thinks that it died because it had no light

It’s hard to see
Fuzzy
The drugs are making her sway

She already wrote the note
The one her husband will find
After he cuts her down
With one of the knives in the bathroom

He will hold her pale body
He will rock her
And cry
And be sorry that he snapped at her that morning

Because he knew she was delicate
It’s just that mom was sick
And work was stressful
And he was running late


What a shame