“I’m Still Bruising” by Alex McCullough
He buried twenty years in the
yard, under where the kids would still
play, and the flowers would still bloom,
but I'm still bruising.
And so I made a guide to cope.
Step One: Fuck That
Hide the truth where you can't find it.
Pretend you're a Nora Roberts ingénue with long, kempt hair and
a love still to hold.
Step Two: Fuck Him
Rip the walls away in patches.
Summon cheap pizza to the house.
Stain your hair green or wax it bald.
Lock the door and scream.
Step Three: Fuck Him
Pound on his uptown condo door,
in razor burn and your best thong—
naked deli meat on display.
Pray he'll change his mind.
a. If this fails (which it will),
rip the door off the hinge.
Plot to kill the skank whore
who deigned to kill you first.
b. If this works (which it won’t),
. . . . .
then what????
??????
Step Four: Fuck This
Let the kids walk themselves to school.
Bathe in dirty sheets and stale chips.
Vomit tears into the trash can.
Leave the phone unplugged.
Step Five: Bury
Veil your shame in clean black satin.
Kneel by the invisible stone.
Allow the gorgeous past to die.
Hope it stays that way.
Alex McCullough is a rising U-M sophomore from Toledo, Ohio, and is pursuing a major in English and a minor in Spanish. In his free time, he enjoys reading (and buying way too many) books, playing piano poorly, scream-singing in the car, and writing.
