grow

 
The valley in my brow is as terrifyingly
deep as the one
we sat in the night when you told me:
you'd be happier if you could shoot me,
watch the dirt swallow my body,
maybe some flowers would grow?
what a mortal, forgettable headstone.

Just as you wished for,
I pick you flowers most mornings, straight from
the soil of my heart,
they feed from the air in my lungs.
I am breathless
by the time I reach the brick gate, clutching the bouquet in my hands.
I love you.
I am shaking under the weight of the lines in my forehead.
five of them, a hand shaped welt where he
pushed me into the mattress.

I am so sorry, I am so sorry,
that sometimes my knees buckle and
bring us both down when
you just need me, garden stake, to lean on.

Please don't forget, I am in the dirt with you.
I am pouring everything I have into this ground.
Please! I am begging you! use it all up!
Please! I am begging you! grow.