emma

she arrived at two a.m.,

her sobs becoming the new

white noise of the ward.

fourteen, cut, and caught

having sex with her boyfriend-

mistakes and scratches

on her arms and thighs

put her with the rest of us.

and just like the rest of us,

she didn't want to be here.

at breakfast,

she paired her black leggings and ugg boots with silence

and did not talk to anyone at all.

by lunchtime,

she was the back of my hand-

my skin had never looked

more beautiful.

her story?

she had been to a psych ward before-

the treatments had curbed most of her

nasty habits,

but she still didn't eat

anything at all.

they watched her eat.

they watched her weight.

i watched her hope

fade into the chipped paint on the walls,

even though she clung to it like

her favorite teddy bear.

she did not see beauty

when she looked in the mirror

but her grungy red hair

reminded me of alleyways

lit by starry nights.

the bags under her emerald eyes

made it look like she'd gotten in

a street fight with god-

but the strength twinkling in her pupils

showed me she'd won.

she was a goddess

turned mortal

without consent,

but she was rising with the sun.

i hate to say i don't remember,

but i don't remember

the words she strung together

to help me patch up my wounds.

my only memory is of

the hope she instilled in me

while we talked at lunch

and she finally took a bite of

her shitty hospital food.