Last night, I dreamt of a boy that I had loved once

When I was young & foolish & wanting. I loved his

Ash brown eyes that burnt, then burnt out, stifled fire

When I was twelve, he cut right to the heart of me

Asked it to me straight: So, do you want to die?

Cigarette dangling from yellow teeth, he offered one

To me, Satan luring Eve from sweet verdure to Earth

Where the sun could only be felt and not touched

I shook my head demurely, let him in on a secret:

No, I have my death scheduled for a different day.

I watched as the police took him away, a stirring

In my guts, a lump in my throat like I swallowed

A mouthful of ash. There, the yearning lingered

Stuck in my esophagus, thick like gold nectar

But this lust, it tasted tart not honeyed-sweet.

To the officer, I lied, voice plaintive & paper-thin:

I do not know him. I did not mention the wool-thick

Timbre in which he said my name, begged familiarity

Between us. He whispered: I feel it too, the urge to

Find myself a burial ground, then dig & dig & dig.

I think about it sometimes: that boy / that fall / that year

The year I longed to die, the burnout boy who offered

Death to me, held it out with his outstretched hand

That year, I bathed in my own self-immolation. I was

Death-starved, death-enamored, death-sick, death-less.

In dreams, I held a gleaming, serrated knife, chopping

Myself to bits: heart first; then brain; wanton, wanting

Body last. Mom existed as ghost, lived in space between

For her disappearing act, she let out a waiflike shriek

Told me, knife to throat: it is better to cut than be cut.

I tore myself apart, cauterized the cuts, restitched my sutures

Wake with an ache that would take a childhood to shake

On days I feel it still, a burning brushfire in me, I hack off

Poisoned roots of my family tree, then remember a lesson

My father taught me early: Always keep to a schedule.