To My Friend in the Last Days of my Marriage by Gretchen Hill

those were days 
when everything 
was a secret 
when my husband 
smoked meth 
and spit 
and screamed 
seizing in his chair
when you said
                            I will wait for you 
and for once 
I was not alone
you whispered 
of the splintered night 
made whole 
black silk rippling 
over the stoic mountains
my world was a sphere of glass 
a room of smoke 
my world was a mouth full of teeth 
a room carpeted in ash
you were kite 
you were parachute 
a hawk rising 
from the canyon floor
my pulse 
my breath 
my bruises 
all leaning toward you
over the cliff edge
thinking 
this is how we fall
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