


Wednesday /10am
You put a bag around your head and walked into the river.
Youwalked into the river with a bag around your head and you were
never deadgame on the banks of your
mental styxfor the double
audienceof smoke—
—
You pressed a coin into his palm and stepped across the water.
Youstepped across the water with a hand on his arm and he was
silent and kind as you
shoved off, toward the smoky coilsof the greek-seeming dead—
You’d been trying to sleep.Found yourself here
in the mythocryptic land—The river
—
had widened to a lake. You were anchored
in the shallow boatby his faceless weight—
And on the green shore you could see their vaporedresidue, how they could
smell it, those two―if youslit your wrist you could make them speak.
If you
—
slit your wrist you might be able to sleep.
Grief.
Grief.
Handing you backyour coin.
—Dana Levin
I found this poem doing the weekly poetry response assignment for English at school. It’s just my type of coffee.


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