top of page

C.N.P Poetry 

  • Writer's pictureCathexis Northwest Press

Some Body’s Wife; Moments After Cutting off a Hospital Bracelet with Kitchen Scissors

By: Cassidy Black

Some Body’s Wife

a knife against thighmuscle,

             she wants me alive again.

everything ends up the same way

             it started; smoke turns to ash,

dust to decay, bodies back to battlefields.

             thinking of things to say

like she missed her brain on drugs or

             sleep is a deathbed we crawl in and out of.

i’ve never seen her smile like that,

             her jaw swinging wide, opening

the medicine cabinet and

             jumping into all the places i took her

before i wanted to be some body’s wife.

             wedded to philosophy, logic and reason,

i laugh at her jokes and wait

             for the prayers to pour in.

she is far away from our mother

             staring at the ceiling fan and capturing

spiders rather than killing them.

             every sudden change is a trip

to the emergency room. i loved her and i

             lost her. after years of being alone

i’ve named everything in the sky

             after my love.

Moments After Cutting off a Hospital Bracelet with Kitchen Scissors

you wake up tired from rolling around in the sweat

of nightmares. your gums are swollen. you’ve got to stop 

smiling. being so in love makes it very hard to see

at night. nothing matters. everything means the world 

to you. you feel the edge of the knife blazing

white. you know they can’t blame the dogs 

for everything. the guns should be locked away. you sit

in the passenger seat and watch the winter trees wave 

back at you with broken little fingers. you have to decide 

not to say anything. you will always be hard to hear.

too quiet, too soft, too crooked. you want to be

somewhere else. this can be very frustrating. stop saying 

you don’t miss your dead. have you apologized 

enough for taking all those pills? you don’t like answering 

the phone on the first ring. sometimes you stand in the middle 

of a silent room and understand the quiet clock

counting out your seconds. you shave off another day

and pretend you are beautiful. a lot can go wrong if 

you let yourself think or sleep or laugh too much.


Cassidy Black (she/her) is a nineteen y/o small-town poet, libra sun, and postcard collector who has lived in the same yellow house her entire life. Her work has previously been published in The Rising Phoenix Review and Ghost City Review.


bottom of page