Aunt found her.

There was an empty pill bottle

on her dresser. Thirty tablets.

Aunt’s painkillers. Not enough to kill.

My sister was found in a pool

of her own vomit. There was

no suicide note. The ambulance

has come, and carted her away.

She will have a stomach pump,

and a psychological evaluation.

We are sombre, wondering how

this could have happened.

Sitting together in the relatives area,

waiting for news, the smell

of hospital corridors will always be

something I fear.


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