The great crevices on her arms
an expansive death
        she always longed for.
    She told me how brave
                       a suicide
        and how I couldn't understand
    when they put her away.

    For the past week
        I have remembered her
Vodka and orange juice
        who kissed me on the back porch in the dark
    and then I held her hair back
                when she vomited the alcohol
        the realest woman I've ever seen
            screaming death in her smile

    Every time she cried
she got my sleeve wet
    and then we laughed
        sitting on the porch swing
a religious adventure
    a joint rolled in a cigarette
                how I miss her
    who read my poems
and shrank me real
            a sister of the blood
        that stained bathroom tiles
who returns to me now
            a great blue-eyed prophet
        a black mother
                singing me to sleep.