in October I thought too hard about the girl
that died from walking between two subway cars and I puked.
got a one-way ride to the hospital,
the francophone paramedic asking me quelle est votre nom, est-ce-que vous avez des allergies?
the doctor asking me if I’d eaten, if I’d fainted, if the metro smelled like burnt toast,
the nurse saying I’M MISSING CRIMINAL MINDS FOR THIS as she takes my blood pressure,
you holding my hand, feeding me pineapple chunks from a can and sips of warm water,
bangs damp against your forehead because you ran to find me.
you asking about the girl that died from walking between two subway cars,
and if I saw her when I closed my eyes.