For Amy

When Amy died

I was in New York

thinking about all of the little

choices, the early mornings

the aching sober nights

the stinging aloneness

meant to keep

my fire contained.

I walk the lines in bathroom stalls,

I run from last year’s demons.

When Amy died

I was careful to not eat meat

and picked up a shift at work;

anything to swallow back the world.

Her hive,

her head held high as the queen

her elbows thin as rails,

always the one raging


Death is not so far away

from summer in the city.

Her passion

lit up the sky like

blue spiders

and fell with just smoke

in the air.

Life was too much with her,

I order another tonic

and hand back the hand

on my lower back.

If I can’t dance soon

back bent until my shoulders sweep

the floor,

If there isn’t some madness to

drag my light out in strands of fire,

I will

die imploded.

There is too much light


to give.

When Amy died

the music groaned back

from the black

then pounded

then pounded

her leaving.

I cannot mourn enough

the too much life

of a queen’s hive

head held on the neck

of a more than woman;

I cannot leave

her delicate


When Amy died

my mouth was

stung with longing

for her honey.




About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in Poetry, Summer and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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