Category: Poetry

You think it’s a choice,

You said so to that lady who told you

“It’ll take years for me to get over this.”

You said, “That’s your choice,”

Puffed up when you told me,

No one makes you feel what they want you to feel,

Least of all responsible,

When you choose not to.

Then, you told me you made yourself not want me, not want us,

Just decided it was so, and so it was.

You recommended I do the same,

“Just forty days!”

You said with enthusiasm,

Determined always to protest

That you are the master of your own ship,

That you always “speak truth to power,” as you say.

Yet you made a million excuses

When the true one unuttered would have served,

And to make sure there was no going back, you broke all our bowls, our teacups,

You stomped on my glasses, leaving glittery, mocking smithereens on our floor

And no place to hold soup, or my tears that fall

Each time I understand or don’t understand

Or recall your saying that my wanting you to be my partner

Was a bossy, presumptuous demand, a lariat around your neck.

No bull in a china shop are you,

But deliberate breaker of precious things.

One by one you let go of the handles

You smirked with triumph – no victim to the siren, no fool are you!

At the end of your rampage,

You looked me straight in the eye

As you let drop the very last, my dearest teacup of all –

That being apart was unacceptable.