*

She wore a short-sleeved shirt.

by Scott Kurtz

"Yesterday I cut my wrists with a razorblade (pink, lady-bic),
The same one I use on my legs . . . I butchered it."
She said, over some little Asian guy's head.
About as loud as she could.

"My mom says I shouldn't talk about it . . . that hurts."

So she wore a short-sleeved shirt
(and didn't even change the bandages)
Bloody cotton - soaked through like motor-oil.

"What a bitch. I should've cut off one of my appendages.
Try and quick-fix that with stitches and psychologists.
Next time I should finish it."

Her nervous laughter rang out, rapid like a gun
And the silence after was where the shells fall to the ground.
Clink. Clink. Echo. Empty street.

I was drinking up the silence, and she just kept on drinking
(she finished her third beer and told the bartender
to, "Stop staring at me you gay queer.").
She got a fourth and turned to me, fingering her hair
Slurring steadily, finding her words.

"My brother asked me what it's like to know you're about to die.
I told him it was like listening to Patsy Cline,
Except death didn't make me cry."
She hummed a phrase, then sang a line
(Have you ever been lonely? Have you ever been blue?)
And turned away; the notes streaming down her face.

But she stopped before her makeup smeared and said to me,
"Isn't it weird how we got in without ID?
I mean, I'm only sixteen and you're younger than me."

She said it too loud through the fog
(I guess she meant to whisper, but you know how it hovers).
And the band was playing, some old early-90's cover
As we got dragged right out the door. (the stringy blond singer screaming
Something about how he hates himself. How he wants to die.
How he thinks he's dead already. And I saw his eyes,
He might be right . . . bloodshot eyes.)

And the door slams and we're outside : suddenly blind.
Freezing air - the stars are ferocious : scaldingly bright.
She stares at me, instantly sober, and brushes the snow from her hair.

A car pulls up; nearly runs us over.
Her nervous laughter rings out, rapid like a gun.
And the silence after was where the snow fell to the ground.

Wind in the trees. Echo. Empty street.