Suspension

All I can seem to manage these days are a few kind words,
An algebra worksheet and a sip of raspberry tea,
“Thanks” and “You’re Welcome.”

As if one misstep, one interpersonal stream of
Thought could offset a summer’s worth of
Bandaging and stitching, of stacking and cementing,
Rebuilding something that wasn’t even strong
To begin with.

The way a picture of you in the hall
Jolts me like some sick science experiment,

The way old vitamin water still manages
To taste like June and trampolines,
Like sidewalk chalk and awkward embraces,

The way the outline of some sleeping pill sends me reeling
Back to a world of charcoal-mouthed ghosts
And sobbing midnight phone calls,
Her face white and her cheerful voice as empty as the words
We spoke.

“Alright. Everything is alright.”