How (Do I Live)?

I keep myself on a tight leash. Sometimes I start to wander
again but mostly I try to stay close.
I never buy the same candle twice. I don’t want to be drawn
into the ether of remember. The fog sogged forest surrounding
my heart. No one comes in or out. The perimeter
is surrounded. See, I got lost. I try to stay close.
At times I can’t for the life
(and it is life or death) of me
figure out why I’m holding this spatula. Why I’m putting on
these shoes. What I was saying to you.
Some days, I lose time. Some minutes I lose hours.
The why, like Siken said. I know how to write this
poem. What I’m asking is why I should. Should I?
I probably shouldn’t. Ask that. You ask if I forget
you. You ask if I forget why I love you.
No, darling, never that. But sometimes
how.
I know your why the most. But I don’t want to be your ghost.
When I slipstream I wish it was pretty. That
there were glitter. Faeries, fog, fantasy, fucksakes
I want there to be something glamorous about
the way I lose my life. Manicured
nails & a beat face while I look at yours
without registering it, or like I want to
claw it off. Sometimes I can’t measure
my distance from the ground. Sometimes I pretend
this makes me tall. That disassociation is
a superpower. Hi hello how are you no
I don’t have a name, because if you have a name that means
something at some time has to have happened to you, & nothing

has ever happened to me. Nice to meet
you. Welcome to the forest.

Camille Ferguson is a queer poet from Ohio. Their work is published or forthcoming in Flypaper Lit, Zone 3, Passages North, and Door Is A Jar, among others. You can follow Camille on Twitter @camferg1.