“I’m not committed to life,” she said
and her body was ash beneath
the moon. She ate a pomegranate down
to its last seed, took a breath
Pumpkin seeds tasted like water now.
She often dreamed of swallowing
an entire swing
so that she might take that swaying motion with her.
But then she was gone, her dress
off-kilter, the heels scraping away,
and the moonlight was a severed man
on the nearby bushes