Because I Could Not Belly Death Poem by Stevie Edwards

I wait. There is a charge—
the drooling pool of regret
stinks the morning into blue
flowered sheets and yes,
I am in it, rank breath
of a dog, a sore opened
bloody in my stomach.
Each bland soup spoonful
stings with life. I can't
rinse the revenants from
the gauzy summer blouse
of fifteen. It must be true
I was a slender goodbye
song. Who can write a song
about the living without
gazing at death? I have no
singing voice. Most days
I don't consider fifteen
years I tried to snuff out,
all that life—there's an art
to waking, to stopping
by the deli, to masticating
roast beef and bread.
Like everything, it feels
like hell to swallow
the glad jitter pills
prescribed to addle me
into bearable. I must terrify
love as it tracks me down
in this daily dirge.