Thank You, My Turn
but if I name it
in time as we understand it
they’ll know it’s you
(But They’ll know anyway )
Apparently, the Earth does
as it shook below your feet,
just as I was writing these words
Recall, whichever time after time
that was
Me getting dressed first
Me saying goodbye first
Me having to return to someplace where
anxiety would drive me me away from you
Again
That time
You said, “thank you,” as I was leaving
and I found it so curious
Should I carry that home lightly,
Eyeroll and the whorish insult
or should I let the weight,
deep gratitude hanging in your lilt
wash over me like a security blanket knowing
to this we could always return
Except:
every time you break me.
The delicate balance I carry
living in shadows and alleyways
Of my former self spins.
I’m off kilter,
a nauseating tilt-a-whirl
A not so fun fun house
I have to make my way out of
swiftly and safely
Because to let it overtake me,
let its palisades parade its soul particles, those required to keep atoms spinning,
required to keep the gas lit and legit:
They would break
We would go nuclear
And this she, who is me
works best as a singular atom
But this last time
After trauma bonding your pain
Spilling all over me, and in me,
Things I don’t think
you speak about otherwise
but maybe that assumption isn’t wise
You got dressed first,
Pulled me close for a last passion
I hate to hope is our final
Final goodbye…
I whispered inaudibly to the goddesses before me,
who too know Achilles and his heel, as if it is their own,
“Thank you…”
And now, I know you…
You never meant it
as an insult
as payment left on a bedside table
Instead
It’s the only way to express it properly when
there’s a void the magnitude of us
we never can fill
Comments
Post a Comment