A new poem by Jennifer Compton.

I Imagine Making The Decision To Tell The Truth

I lean my forehead against the chill of the third floor window
and there is the cloud that tells me what I must do.
I do not regret the children I do not have.

I ring my mother, at the wrong time, on the wrong day, let her talk
on and on and on, and I crack some good jokes.
I do not say goodbye with any emphasis.

I get in touch with a friend of a friend of a friend to let them know
I will be forwarding a ‘pancake recipe’ — aka my manifesto.
It takes me ten minutes to set it down and I click Send.

I print the ‘recipe’ and put it in an envelope with the key to my flat,
add a note — ‘you will know what to do, i may not be back’ —
and slip it under the door of Irma across the hall.

I fry up a cheese omelette aux fines herbes and mop up the juices
with black bread. I brew several pots of green tea.
Time moves on. My shift starts at noon.

I drop my nightclothes on the floor and leave them there for Irma.
I shower, as naked as I was born, and wash my hair.
My fingers get right down into my scalp.

I scavenge the last drops of my Chanel but go for my heavy-duty
underwear, not my silly bits and bobs of peach silk.
And just my work clothes, just the usual thing.

Into one pocket of my zipped jacket I slip a book of poetry — because —
and into the other, an apple. I may get hungry, by and by.
I am very afraid. I am so afraid.

But anything is better than this life of lies. It’s killing me.