The name was a wet, embarrassing  thud.

So I call out for that body smacking tile floor hard.

Name like grasping for an elusive shower curtain

that lingers behind the body like angel wings.


I call for a temple on porcelain bowl,

sick flash of white light head trauma impact

all slick from water slick from blood or shampoo

on a floor of stringy black hairs and tissue paper 


Name like the seizure that follows and the

empty static of the house it echos in.

Name that taste like choking on vomit and froth.

Name of convulsion and empty eyes.

I call that naked, limp body of a name.

I hear nothing. No reply in my empty house.

I forget the name as soon as it leaves my lips.

I forgot the name as I step into the shower.