the timekeeper (collab)

When I was two I arranged the letters in my alphabet soup
to spell out the date of my death,
because I’d already discovered it
at such a young age.

When I was younger, death trailed me like a wedding dress
and flowers never bloomed from my steps.

At night, I peel open alphabet soup cans
and cut my fingers on the lids,
sometimes finding the answers to questions
I didn’t want to ask.

But sometimes those answers 
are the only things that keep me
holding on to this rope, here beneath the stars,
the silver branches twisting and turning over my head.

When I was eight, I told everyone that the cat did it,
when really she just licked the sorrow from my wrists instead.

Last month, my cat died
and I know a boy who has kept
his dead dog’s collar around his arm for two years
because he is too afraid to let go.

Maybe I’ve forgotten when I will die
but that doesn’t make holding on any easier.

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