What my loneliness whispers behind my back

it says, see, I told you that Jewish girls with pretty hair don’t exist,

that it was a bad idea to paint your bathroom that shade

of blue, that ice cream should not really be

bought in that flavor on a date. it whispers, I told you, to stop breaking

windows trying to fit your body through them and you almost coughed up

blood on purpose but don’t tell the doctor or your mother.

They will find a reason to put you in a hospital and the hospital

walls will be gray and it will remind you of someone who gave you their sweatshirt

at a bond fire at some Jewish camp late night ritual thing and the crying will start

all over again just when you were starting to watch the television.

The therapist says to go to the happy place and the doctor gives you a pill

you like the doctor better because it takes too long

and too many crinkles of the forehead to go to the happy place

And momma said you always had a poor sense of direction

and got lost just going to the store. You wound up in coney island

once remember that. And you didn’t want to get back on the right train

to go home. Because home feels like a pile of leaves next to a dead raccoon. You’re scared to touch the leaves because you will have to look at the raccoon. That’s what home is.

And the raccoon is just too scary and too dead

To be beautiful. That’s what home is. Too scary and too dead. To be beautiful.

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