are the thoughts still intrusive if its been four months,
or can you just be another in the litany of voices in my head?
I’m asking for a friend and that friend is me cause
between me and myself, between
hours of bike rides and the screams of little cousins
between the tequila I drank Wednesday night and the way white men talk to me,
I still remember everything.
and the hurt isn’t sharp, not anymore,
its more of a dull throb somewhere between my uterus and kidneys
the way pancreatitis feels once your enzymes reach 2K over the healthy limit of 20
and just like that night my gallbladder exploded, it seems
like I keep retching up more and more and more
every hour on the hour
of the things you did the way I felt
continual flows of bitter yellow bile dumped from the cavern of my mouth
But somehow I’m not getting better.
and maybe this means I need an intervention
except instead of a blonde doctor weaving a tiny robot’s hands through my entrails
it’ll be a white man weaving his careful green eyes and soft words around my head
avoiding the pieces that still scream ouch, ouch when touched until the day we both die
or maybe like the errant gallstone that blocked my liver ducts, that
scritchy itchy feeling under my ribcage
I’m still holding on to some calcified chunk of what happened
maybe that’s why I still remember the words you said so clearly
every time someone touches my arms
or when the smell of an IPA hits my nose
or when I catch someone staring at my sacred hair
do you think that black kid is gay
why do the gays need to have marriage why couldn’t they just have civil unions
maybe they do love each other the way my wife and I do
of course I know that police treat blacks differently, I used to sic cops on black kids when I was breaking the law
I am waiting to see if you are okay
I am waiting to see if I am okay, too.