grief is gray and amber, fossilized suicide by Brianne Grothe

your doctor/father/god told you that
a broken heart was your door to
ideation, annihilation

but that daisies and bulgogi were
the way out

last time you wanted to go by
water, to go quietly in the college
gym’s swimming pool

you kept putting on your flip flops
the ones with the hamburgers and
french fries and the pink straps
then taking them off

you were already going by
murder of the self, by a
dingy green hippie van
driven by a boy with dark
curly jesus hair

when would you be loved
in a form that was whole

not in a fog of green
and black

when would your life
begin?

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