I saw myself
at age eleven,
laid out before them:
pale, cold, and still,
just like Huck Finn
at his own funeral,
while everyone there
felt grief and remorse.

I saw myself,
awkward and gawky,
thirteen years old
and hating myself,
floating in bathwater,
dyed a deep crimson,
with the tell-tale razor
dropped on the floor.

I saw myself
again at sixteen,
sprawled in the lawn,
impaled by the roses,
a high open window
silvered by moonlight,
while my blood bloomed
on the flowers and grass.

I saw myself,
then over thirty,
driving my junker
too fast on the highway,
“losing” control,
on icy pavement,
hitting an overpass.
Over and done.

I see myself,
older and wiser,
now a survivor
plotting to heal.
My secret strategies
are all for the future;
no more surrender -
I will to live.

LEE

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