Megan Wildhood

The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You

I accidentally said, “I love you” when hanging up 

with a customer service representative the other day.

Because of nuclear weapons, because of hunger,

because of cold, because of birds still singing in the smoke— 

though love does not do justice to our proud harm—

saying it feels like justice because someday, 

“Sandy-how-may-I-help-you” will die. Yes,

so though I’d never see her (and know it), it was right 

to say I love you. Sandy-how-may-I-help cannot help

because one day, everyone will die.

So what if we asked each other what we want to happen 

to us when we die with the compulsion we ask each other, 

“What do you do?” (I didn’t have to ask Sandy-may-I-help-you 

and she didn’t ask me.) or “How was your day?”

Who would we have to be for this to be a celebration?

I don’t know what I would want, but I was present 

for every step of my grandmother’s death:

from her eyes shuttering open to clutching her hand until it went stiff 

to sliding her box of ashes next to Pappy’s in the columbarium

to spray painting “long live Gigi’s love” on the pre-ordered headstone 

someone forgot to cancel after deciding to go with burning.

I called Sandy-may-I-help-you for help with my misbehaving 

GPS, which was brand new, because it took me to the wrong place.

It took me to the damned cemetery,

Sandy-help-me, and I called you from my car 

because there is no option to reverse the directions.

Megan Wildhood is a writer, editor and writing coach who helps her readers feel seen in her monthly newsletter, poetry chapbook Long Division (Finishing Line Press, 2017), her forthcoming poetry collection Bowed As If Laden With Snow (Cornerstone Press, May 2023) as well as Mad in America, The Sun and elsewhere. You can learn more about her writing, working with her and her mental-health and research newsletter at meganwildhood.com.