Ripping Pages Off the Calendar by Julia Alexander


It’s May,

and you are asleep

on my couch.

I count your fingers

to make sure that

you are real

and you are all

And, you are

taking up all the

space that my

being has ever

longed to inhabit.

It’s July,

and we are in my

swimming pool.

And everyone is around.

And you keep trying

to get me to put

my head underwater,

and I keep saying no.

I keep saying no,

and you keep trying anyway.

It’s November

and I am waking up

on your couch.

And your dad asks if

I am ok

and you say “yes”

but I don’t think he believes it,

and I don’t think you believe it.

I am just trying to take

up a little less space

because lately

I feel like an intruder

in my own skin.

It’s January

and my

swimming pool

has been closed

for three months.

We are living in different states,

and I haven’t counted

your fingers in four weeks.

And you’re still trying

to push my head underwater,

and I keep saying no.

I keep saying no,

but this time you’re diving.

head first off the deep end

anyway.

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