This piece is part of a memoir essay collection I’m working on as both performance and print.
That summer in 1989 I smoked hash for the first time
and I thought you were me and I was you
and then when i was sober again
i said maybe it’s true
I kept that thought alive for years
thinking we could love everyone more
if we could just lose track of who was who
Why isn't always clear.
Sometimes its just... invented.
Or it’s sticky and sharp,
Where it makes no sense at all
Last night I saw the spirit of my first husband projected onto the wall like a midnight movie
on the last night of his life, staring into the mirror
swallowing all those pills
lying back on his bed, waiting for the light show to begin
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