let the phone ring

she leans
not lightly
on the small
pill, her lips
and wrists
now stitched
like the bedazzled
smile of an unwed
witch. she lies
in her lithium
bed and rises
and falls like
steam from an
unshaken
lake below
moonlight.
and she rattles
the small
brown jar, white
capped with
hope and balance
her name smudged
ink from
her fisted hand.
don't run out of
air, don't go
broke, don't
leap from the bridge
just yet. she is
wired, she is wide
black eyed
and bent like
a hanger, dulled
and stiff in
the closet. there
is no way out,
no way in. let
the phone ring.