how we slipped from each other’s hands
like some too-heavy thing.
so, so far gone, love.
it was sunny,
do you remember?
you were smiling,
you are always inescapable.
i felt you crack open my body.
even after erasing every centimeter of you—
your voice, your fingernails, your right and left hands,
there is some orphaned spirit of mine
that i have not yet found,
that i suspect still lives in every centimeter of you,
and it is i have become the broken thing,
the incomplete thing.
i do not think of you except for when i think of you,
which happens more or less often
depending on how much I am prepared to endure.
and i do endure.
i endure the memory—
half-invented, half-summoned—
of our hands peeling each other apart,
pulling each other apart,
how we tore each other apart
and i would never wish us on each other again.
My personal writings.
WanderWoman 