Growing Closer to Home

my first experience with suicidewas at church—a relative of a friendnot much older than I am nowhung himself in his apartment.I didn't understand.I was six.

my next encounter wasat the little theatre—a friend, my friend,told me she wanted to die.I was beginning to understand.we were ten.

after this, I thought about itevery day, in my home—in my mind—I told myself I wanted to die.I didn't understand why.I was thirteen.

then one fine april fridaya friend of my friends—a rabbit-hearted soul filled with sunlight—dimmed forever.I was eighteen.

I haven't considered it for some time.I know why.now, I think I understand.I am nineteenI cannot give in.

I often wonderwill it return?the too bright in the sunshinetoo dark in the nightthat I can't see except from out of my eyes' corners—will we meet as old friends?shake hands?feel the dagger in my throat?the noose?will we part?

will I understand?