Narcissus

LEILA CHATTI

When a man throws himself into the black ink of the harbor, the news story says he is just your age.

So I am relieved when you answer, the beloved hook of your voice latched in my ear, saying of course

I’m fine, I would never do such a stupid thing as rid this world of me.

You were the one, long ago, who told me the myth of the boy who loved enough to drown in.

I think perhaps now I love you because I cannot recognize you seen so clearly—suffering, you seem so like myself.