"You Saw Yourself in Me
and You Wanted to Die" by Kat Giordano
this is the only thing people like us can be
to each other: burning
houses to go sprinting into, trying
to save something neither of us know how
to name. no need when we can close
our eyes, trace the same shapes
with our hands, bathe the same bloody dagger
in sunlight, convinced it’s a flower.
what do we tell them?
it’s like squinting into dark water and seeing
yourself in miniature. you think,
as if by instinct, i hope it can breathe in there,
and that’s the first time you realize
you love it. it’s like astral-projecting
above your own movie, silently
willing yourself to cut the right wire,
breathe air, drink water,
consider that throwing yourself
on that serrated edge will not love it
it’s you chain-smoking on my back porch,
saying you wish you were more
like the person i am with you.
it’s me saying me too
and meaning it.