"Your Words" (for Stacey)

1.



At such a significant time,

your book surfaced -

came to the top of one of

our "clutter piles" - as

the mental health team,

and certain judgmental

family members

would describe them.

Not entirely accurate -

or entirely inaccurate, either.



So I read your poems -

some prose.

I hadn't been able

to read your words

for so long.



And I am

the same. In so many ways.

I never mentioned that,

did I?

And I never told you

not to worry

that I would "get inside

your mind".

We were friends, right?

So why wouldn't

I be in your mind -

in your heart?

But I relate so much to the

obsessiveness

and constant fear of

rejection and abandonment.

I totally do.



And I never read descriptions

of Prozac and Risperidone

as accurate as yours.

Were you still reading

Facebook when I

mentioned that?

I don't think that I ever

said it to you.

Not properly.

You know, what I wrote

was - roughly - that

you captured the feelings - sensations -

of being on the drugs.

My poems have delved

into side-effects, yes -

and the social-political

side...but yours...

so, no - I'm not a "better poet".

I was never, ever

more talented than you.



2.



And I just wanted to say

that I'm sorry

that I wasn't there for you

more -

that I wasn't there

at the end -

that I let my illnesses

and insecurities

control me

to that extent -

but I never, ever

really believed

that you'd die,



and the day you told us

that the "C." word had spread -

you looked better,

quite well.

You were even

putting on weight -

although not nearly enough -



and we were looking at cameras,

and you took a picture

of one of our piles -

receipts or something, I think -

and I so

wanted to

take yours

because

you were beautiful -

because

you were you -

but I didn't.

I didn't feel that

I could

at that moment -

and now,

and now...