will they make me whole ? she said,
pills in her palms
the doctors wrote stabs at her wrists
in
a cosmic game
of guess and
check
on slips of paper
with jagged signatures
she won’t be whole
not while the pills pry her veins apart
so she tries to sing
songs
about her history hoping
that somewhere
between
the pages
of her past
she will catch
[a glimpse of]
the girl in the white dress by the gauzy curtains
