When the branches began to fall

A Mutual Frenzy


That day hasn't resonated so much until today
when some zebra crossing in the city caught you
in its stripes like a wobbly mother's arms,
like the only forgiving limb of the road.
That day almost a year ago that I'm still trying to swallow -
you felt crazy, you said -
there was no one else around
and the fear had manifested in the both of us,
sunk so quiet, secret,
took on some shape like reckless hilarity,
some bone tickling impulse that shook our
little home like barley
but we both felt its tremors as music.
The wind outside was up or it was flat,
the river urged on past -
phlegm of everything we wanted to forget.
You felt crazy, you said
and I didn't reply until afterwards.
You systematically found a chair,
removed your clothes, wore a towel.
You sat side on,
back to the bath, calculated and blood sugar fuelled
as killing yourself.
And I didn't reply -
I gathered a good two feet of the hair you'd grown so long
in case you ever lost it,
you'd grown so you'd know where to find it;
the hair I'd poured over my own head in wonder,
made you laugh with, worn as a scarf indoors with,
the hair you wouldn't let just anybody touch,
made you feel weird, you said.
You felt crazy, you said, and I didn't reply until I'd
held those two feet that were no more
a part of you than your wrist watch,
until I'd taken the kitchen scissors you so fervently
offered, cut the creature dead to fall between my two feet
like sawdust. No reward for hunger.
I just want you to let me share your sadness, I said.