You have mixed feelings about suicide prevention.
If a person wants to go, why not let her go? Then again
there might be another way to live she hasn’t considered
yet and a stranger to impart these choices in a voice
paved with old potted coffee. It’s like that wedding
in Stony Point you wanted to leave before they served the cake.
Your ride was ready to split, but the fat girl in your party
had never tried canoli cake. Well damn her for wanting
and damn you for saying: the fat girl. She wasn’t fat
on the ride up when you discussed Hart Crane and Kurt Cobain
and which one was sexier: drowning or shooting? Hanging
is best if you can swing it, she said. You liked her then.
But an agreement had been made, 10 pm, cake or no cake.
You knew nothing of the catering boy with a steel stud
through his tongue, fingering a packet of pills. He watched you scowl
at the garter toss: mouth wet with little lemon sorbets
and broiled fish. When a person wants to go, why not
let her go? Then again, if you stayed for the cake you’d get kissed.
Melissa Broder is the author of two poetry collections, MEAT HEART and WHEN YOU SAY ONE THING BUT MEAN YOUR MOTHER. Poems appear or are forthcoming in Guernica, Fence, Redivider, Court Green, The Missouri Review online, Barrelhouse, The Awl, Drunken Boat, et al. You can read the online ones HERE. By day, she is a publicity manager at Penguin. Broder received her BA from Tufts University and is getting a slow, scenic MFA at CCNY.