Sheila Dong

not me in the mirror

not me in the mirror

not me with my veins glowing

through the wall and my vows

in pieces on the opposite wall

the flame starts at my sweater hem

and burns up what is human in me

forgive me for being a cornered rat

forgive me for thinking there was

something in the sky

for finding a tiny door with a painted eye

and believing so ardently that it led

somewhere other than a blank wall

that i let the rest of my life

curl up at the edges and wither

i thought i was a heron made of fire

but i was only the patron saint of driving

myself home with a brain injury

on top of my thoroughbred depression

my only goal was to get home safe

i didn’t plan for what came after, and after

when i said the light hurt my eyes

i meant it in more ways than i could imagine

the doctor said there was bad news and good news

they were the same

that there is no end in sight