When I was six

I had a friend – maybe eight or older –

who would cough and speak

in a gruff voice.

Who died and knew that it was coming.

I am thirty-two and I feel broken

by my mother's death more than twenty

years ago.

Now my blood's gone bad.

Every day I test the measure of my symptoms.

                        ***

This was supposed to be about wolves

and rope

and the lie of the lone wolf

the love of a pack

and how someone got me thinking

about rope.

Then rope words:

safety, sexual, violence, neatness, frayed, farmhouse.

This was much stronger when I thought

it last night. Then

defeat felt a bit noble.

Today it just feels sad

as it ekes the me out.