Scott: A Collection

No. 1 The Five Stages of Grieving Your Childhood

I. Denial

I was seventeen and high

It was an age of enlightenment

With a high school diploma and absolutely

Nowhere to be

I was seventeen and sleeping all day long

Promising that tomorrow I’ll find a job

Tomorrow I’ll enroll in classes

Tomorrow I’ll go back to high school

And visit those teachers

Because I’m still a teenager with absolutely

Nowhere to be

II. Anger

I was almost eighteen and incredibly pissed off

Watching everyone around me fall into

A distinct pattern

Of school, work

Placating myself with temporary fixes

Fuming, because that was supposed to be me

And there I was smoking joints

And promising next semester

And watching TV

And eating

And sleeping

And sleeping

III. Bargaining

I was eighteen and playing with the idea

Of leaving that god damn town

And playing with the idea

Of never leaving at all

I was hating myself for staying

And loving the boy I stayed for

I was making deals with the universe

“If he follows me now,

I’ll follow him later”

Settling on leaving on a whim

And hoping for the best

IV. Depression

I was almost nineteen and alone

1,500 miles from everything sacred

When my uncle’s life was stolen

And my aunt’s came to an end

Before I left my uncle said

“I can’t wait to see the woman you become”

And I wanted him to see too

And my aunt said

“I can’t wait to see where this adventure takes you”

And I wanted her to see too

Halfway across the country

From the crippling grief of my loved ones

Yet buried in it all the same

I was a month from nineteen

When I just needed a goddamn hug from my mom

And a lecture from my dad about

How I needed to keep going

How it wasn’t over yet

So I packed a bag and left

Within 48 hours of deciding

Once again, leaving on a whim

And hoping for the best

V. Acceptance

I am nineteen and I still need

A goddamn hug from my mom

And a lecture from my dad

And I probably still will when I’m 30

I am nineteen and I still act like a teenager (cause I am)

and I still sleep a lot (cause I can)

And I still bargain with the universe (cause I'm hopeful)

And I still wish they could see too (and I hope they do)

But I’m just nineteen and at least

I’m here

And learning

And trying

And growing

And being

No. 2

i remember the dream i had 

the day my grandparents came and told me 

you were gone

and then left me alone,

crying

at the edge of the parking lot

in the dream

i remember the way i siphoned my own breath out,
offered it to the empty hospital bed
then grieved the ways you could not hold it 

i remember the dream i had

the second night

i remember the way my hands ripped away your clavicle bone

trying to reach your heart

 to hold together 

the pieces

and the pieces were only liquid

impossible to grasp

and you told me

that it didn't hurt anymore

i remember the dream i had

the third night

my father telling me and my sister

 there would be no 

bike marathon

there would be no visiting 

uncle scott - 

he was sick again
but then i saw you through the window

riding a bike,

laughing,

not sick at all

and when i looked again

there was only a bird on the windowsill

i remember the dream i had

when i hit my head in the shower

i was screaming at you

for buying me a christmas present

a boston terrier on a bag

a warm winter shirt

i screamed at you

that all i wanted was my uncle

and i woke up coughing water

my lungs burning

and alone

i remember the dream i have

once a month

"i can't wait to see the woman you become"

you tell me this as i hand you quarters for 

the vending machine.

i was always so excited to give you

those stupid fucking quarters.

other times you're cooking.

or making mud-slides.

or carrying breeze-blocks.

or tying up a rope swing especially for me.

"i can't wait to see the woman you become"

and i promise that you will.

and i swing.

and you leave.

my favorite dream that i remember

is the one where you're here.