Scissors

By Aje Björkman

 

To be happy he needs to take pills. Really,

it’s not him. Take a few.  

 

Take a few: one in the morning, two for the evening. 

Don’t mix them up—it’s easy to remember;

it’s a gaping church to forget, and epitaphs 

are at times etched in stone.    

I do forget, sometimes, from time to time—  

 

the quiet will tie a noose and dangle. From feet to floor

there is an ocean to cross, too much air. 

 

There will be memories to weigh me down, lift me up—

Give me scissors.