February 11, 1963
No.
It isn’t worth it.
I know your sadness, but I also know your potential.
You woke up early, earlier than early.
When it was still black out.
And you decided, “today’s the day, I go through with my preaching.”
Yet, you know what you were doing, that it would hurt...not only you.
You were so rational; you remembered the children.
On a drab winter day, you carefully and motheringly
Prepared both your sleeping sweethearts – some bread and jars of milk.
And left it by their nightstands.
Then you opened their windows, to assure their respiration.
You closed both doors with determination, and began to
Seal the crevices with tape and towels.
You wrote a 4-worded note, “Please Call Dr. Horder”
alongside his number,
And clung it to the stroller.
No.
It isn’t worth it.
You’ve tried this before.
You went to your basement and devoured 50 sleeping pills.
Yet, you survived. It must’ve been for a reason.
Last summer, ’62, you sped your car into a river –
With the hopes to end it all.
Yet, you survived. It must’ve been for a reason.
You’re a living token of luck, and the odds have been defied.
Yet you kept on playing with fire.
No.
Fight against the temptation.
It’s 4:30 a.m., you’re only 30, and you’ve turned on the gas –
Alas, you opened the oven door and placed your
Astronomical head inside –
With supernovas in your eyes –
A line of stars within the smile –
Won’t you stay awhile?
The nurse knocked a few hours later.
Nothing in reply.
She asked a passing workman to help her open the door.
They found you in the womb of warmth – you had been re-born.
And you lived up to what you said:
“The Woman is perfected.
Her Dead”