She went to the gym every night, buying bruises So that she could watch some part of herself heal.
In the evenings the sun bled in the west, impaled
On the buildings and the telephone lines along the road.
When she drove home the stars smiled at her or grimaced, Then disappeared.
Some unnamed god or loving dead guided her wheel And she sobbed, blinded by the weight of absence.
Finally there was nothing except her driveway
But the last fteen steps drained more from her
Than the way he’d lounged on his naked blue mattress In a haze of marijuana smoke
And laughed when she tried to say goodbye.
— Juliet Brooks