Suicide Note - or, the Art of Forgetting
Depression was a dirty word
In the crowded halls of our prep school
Who had time for that when hands
Were creeping up skirts
In study hall?
You were sad, but you were getting better.
The medicine was making you better.
You said you were better.
Why did you lie?
When you left, the world trembled.
A hush fell over the building,
And once talkative, brash girls,
Did not know how to move forward.
When you left, the sky fell.
Conversations were hard,
But the silence was harder.
We went home to our mothers and cried.
When you left, a door opened.
The things we never talked about,
Save for hurried whispers in the halls,
Came straight to the forefront.
When you left, I missed you.
A detached counselor’s voice,
Ragged around the edges,
Like glass shoving its way into my heart.
Come back, my dear.
There’s still a place for you
At our cafeteria table
In the seventh grade.
I will never forget the pills
You clutched in your hand.
And the false promises of getting better.
Of joy that kills.