3rd Annual Poems About Suicide Month

[Lizzie]

She hasn't slept in three years.
Her children are restless and nocturnal,
but today they sleep and their silence
seeps slowly forward into the front seats
and her eyelids begin oscillating like tides.
A tire drops over the edge
onto the shoulder, awakening her only enough to feel
the sweetness that could take her
if she just stopped struggling,
stopped caffeinating, and let the car roll over
like a balmy dreamer.