When I woke up this morning, no one was sure I would make it through the day

Not me, not the pillows holding my head, not the sticks of incense
mourning their possible uselessness in my absence from this world

I rose from my bed a little shriveled arm cracked free from a cast

an ear cut from a face and thrown to the wind

a dislocated shoulder of impossible coordinates

At 11 I made coffee
At 4 I made an attempt to heal

At 6 I cried until my body was waterless

At 10 I sat on the floor of the shower watched soap
circle the drain while the water turned my skin red 

At 10:30 I put clothes on hangers and picked up pieces
of my heart and hung them to dry on the hooks that hold my earrings

At 11 the snow had piled up to my window on the second
floor, so I imagined myself within an igloo and made friends with my body

At midnight, the best thing: the hanging pieces of my heart
came together to beat once more

Between midnight and the moment of sleep, after the candles
were blown out and the only light was the moon and streetlights
reflecting off the snow and into my window to lie
across my floor, I thought I heard you whisper my name

but it was only the frost on the window melting from my heat.

Must we say goodbye with silence?