this way by meghann plunkett

It begins with the need to climb.
A kitchen counter. A shed. Anything

in the junkyard. Starting is always
harmless. This is our make. We scale.

We claw. We bird ourselves groundless.

The first vices are weightless. We war our knees
On pavement, split lips fallen from trees. We taste
Ruin and want to carry it in our pockets.
We anger for more. We make the same mistake
in different shapes over and over and over,
this is how we are stitched together
with ritual. We apologize even in sleep. We dream.
We remedy. We ache our hurt holy.

Your body is a collection
of small addictions swimming

around like goldfish that you won by accident
at a carnival your date brought you to

because he was in love with the Ferris wheel
girl. The carnival isn’t real; it’s just there

for the fish. You only win by accident. You try
loosing. You look good in bruises. You flask.
You climb. You coffee. You pill.