Steph Bruzon

VOWS

by Stephanie Bruzon

for B

this is the part where the mystique dries up 

and turns to mold.

/

this is the part where furniture imprints

on naked skin,

and shoes are put to dry

in the sun.

/

where it matters not 

that something is happy,

where it matters only 

that it is alive.

/

this is the nonsensical

chapter,

the

“I want to write happier”

the skin

to the tumor

to the body

that is blue.

/

you dig my illness

a grave to lie in;

I keep its death

close to my chest:

a vow of gratefulness

to you.

/

a single vow of 

I do,

I do give it 

now

instead of take it.

/

and then I lie about it

when it becomes exposed again

and let my bare legs

swing back and forth 

over it,

/

lest I take myself

into that winter 

I know that I will 

never come back from.

/

and you might say something like

“But you love Billie Holiday!”

and I’ll say

that jazz makes me 

wish I could scream louder than I do.

/

something about the color blue again

something like

I’m almost almost

almost

blue.

/

and you,

you might say

“this is the only life in which you have

come out of the other end alive,

alive

and on fire” 

/

and I might say

this is the only life,

there is no other.

then make a vow to the end,

/

a vow that won’t end.

/

and you might say

beautiful things,

and I might say ugly ones,

/

and we might live

to say them both 

/

again

and again.