Published for World Suicide Prevention Day.
You were in the woods, and
had I been home, I would have
known how to find you. How
to pick the moss from your hair,
and make fun of the moon always
following us there, following you.
Little beast with a hook through your cheek.
Even after they took you away, scruffy
and white, the fight folded small in your
chest, I confess I still went looking for you.
I told the wild things you’d gone home.