ptolemaea

there’s blood on the linoleum

you try to mop it up

but you only make a mess

spreading it up the walls

but I cannot protest, for I am dead

I’m sure of it

because I’m floating

and I can no longer scream

and the blood you’re mopping is mine

if only your grandmother was home

when I burst through her door

don’t you have shame?

you can’t even clean well

my blood is seeping into the cracks

it will attract the root gnats

they’ll burrow into my body

eating my flesh

and now I feel myself sinking

back to the body on the bed

I’d rather be dead

than be placed back into your arms

my limbs spring to life

and run

it’s far too sunny outside, far too warm

it should be windy, God should be screaming

you don’t follow me

you let me sprint down the gravel path

past the pile of firewood

I could throw myself into the river

but I don’t want to die yours

I don’t want to haunt your house

following like a lost puppy

you knew I’d never tell a soul

so you let me leave

ptolemaea

I threw up in the creek outside your house

your brother was there

in the house

enveloped in deer skulls and gunpowder

a knife in his hand

you were Satan

your brother, your loyal accomplice

let me leave

let me die

you watched him pin me down

you watched the knife circle my skull

pull the trigger

the combination to your daddy’s safe

held tightly in your palm

fetch the gun

I know how to run

to the fields outside your door

no trees to hide behind

golden grass for miles

the cows are crying

separated from their mothers

do you remember

the mattress

in the attic?

if I had the combination to your daddy’s safe

I’d shoot you in the temple

a life for a life