Twelve

She picked twelve hairs from her head, laid them out

across the table in a row of crooked lines

as if they were cracks

and she counted them again and again

one, two, three

and on and on

the clock’s a circle and now she can’t stop because

every time she gets to twelve it keeps on going

round to one again.

She took twelve licks of the ice cream cone that

melted down her fingers, chocolate

drips like powdered blood drying

on her wrists

and then twelve more, twelve more,

until it was gone and she

felt lost because

what was there left to do now?

She sang twelve songs

without stopping, no talking

while the notes rolled off her tongue

and she thought she might know what had

been wrong before, and when

she had finished

the twelfth song,

she paused

and sang another one.