Nov 9, 2008
I've walked the plank so many times,
I could have been a ballerina―
dancing on guilt trip wires because
I'm graceful when head over heels,
tumbling. "Look Ma! no hands!"
Look what he did, Ma, they're broken:
promises written on bones
too heavy to carry this far
out to sea. So I drop anchor
where dreams go to die.
I lie, dead still,
his name chiseled off my back
with an ice pick― because
I needed to make holes
to breathe again.
Perhaps if he had a backbone
I would not need to carve my own.
It costs too much and I should be
saving the tears inside cups
for him to drink; and forget
the time the water broke
me open, spilling hopes when
no hands were on deck to stop
memories from seeping through
the cracks where our smiles used to
be.
Update: Have go-see at the interesting poem-reactions this piece has churned @ SL Corsua's blog, Unguarded Utterance - "Postcard-Sign (Off) Language" and Blue Rogue's "Dive" @ Extraplanar.
