Not Dying

isn’t the same as

choosing to live,

not right away.

In the bathroom

I pee sitting down,

thinking about it.

Go to the beach?

Would the    i m p u l s e

to throw my body into

night-blackened water

outlast my bio-instinct

to breathe?

Would this body struggle

against my own intention

mind, soul, body connection    d e n i e d?

Would I care who

found me, looking like

a bloated small seal,

a tuskless walrus?

As long as it wasn’t Courtney?

What do humpbacks think

when they beach themselves

on land and people go to crazy efforts,

tugging them

pushing them

rolling them

back into the sea?

Afterward, do the whales

look back to shore, thinking,

            I feel better now—

            and there are

            some humans

            I need to    t h a n k

            for disallowing my

            self-destruction.

Or do they just

think, Oh,    G o d,

I have to try, try again.

When I get into bed

I think maybe

I won’t try

not right now anyway.