She'd said she would shoot herself in the face
except for the dog
that lost weight that winter
because he loved to dance in the snow,
the white powder glistening
on his wet nose, Shepherd’s tail, dull fur.
I tried to imagine the depth.
Although I couldn't relate
not like that, but
I sensed that it was time
to let go, to
stop feeling like the world sat on my chest
like it was all on me
so, I thanked her but took another path.
I’d start fresh
lay back
outstretched
into the blank page
sweep my arms and legs
out and back,
to my fragile wings
declare my somber joy.
It was a new beginning.
The salt and the ice pick would come later.
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